


Bite Me to the Bone

by elwon



Series: Bite Me To The Bone [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Typical Violence, Dick's a hot mess that wears what he wants, Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers, Frottage, Jason briefly misgenders Dick, Jason's a Viking, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Steph/Cass/Tim Threesome, Vampire Culture, Vampire Slaying, Vampires, Viking attitudes towards gender and sexuality, amiable but evil Dick, brief discussion on homophobia, buffyesque setting with non-buffy vampires, burning of churches, handjobs, sportsball, vampires feeding on people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-27 00:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15673953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwon/pseuds/elwon
Summary: After six months walking around with a beating heart, Dick wishes he could use the speed, strength and abilities he’s used to. Because he’s still a soulless demon deep down. Being able to walk in the daylight and eat pizza do not make up for this utter humiliation and punishment. But then the Red Hood appears, and things start to look up.





	1. I would kill for you

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a Buffy the Vampire Slayer au with Dick as a version of Angel, and then morphed into a 40k monster that ate my life for a month. The End result is less Buffy and more vampires through the ages, but I'm really proud of it anyway!

Gotham, 2018:

In the five years since Dick managed to kill a Slayer, the following things have happened: 

1) Said Slayer, Cassandra, had accidentally been turned into a vampire. Not Dick’s greatest moment, he’ll admit. He’s not even sure how it happened.

2) He’d stayed in Gotham after killing and turning the Slayer. His first real fuck up.

3) Said Slayer’s watcher, Bruce Wayne, who is incidentally also the High School principal, had sought revenge, somehow finding a djinni and wishing for Dick to be turned human again. After six months walking around with a beating heart, Dick wishes he could use the speed, strength and abilities he used to have. Because he’s still a soulless demon deep down. Being able to walk in the daylight and eat pizza do not make up for this utter humiliation and punishment.

4) Due to now being a weak human, he needs protection from his enemies. The best way to get this protection? Work for the new Slayer. This requires him to go to High School. Surprisingly, it’s the least worst consequence of being human. Despite himself he’s grown quite fond of Stephanie, the new Slayer, and her group of friends and watcher.

5) Some arsehole calling himself the Red Hood, has in the last two months, tried his best to cause a war between the demons, vampires and werewolves in Gotham. The Red Hood’s best is _very_ good. There have been few human casualties in this war and to Dick that is _deeply suspicious_.

Dick leans back in his chair in the library and sighs heavily, running his hands through his short hair. He flips his feet up on to the table his bright blue sneakers thumping onto a raggedy old book of spells. He gets a thrill looking at his legs, clad in velvet knee-length breeches but not stockings; even after a few centuries, it still feels scandalous. His neon tie-die t-shirt feels loose without the bright blue sateen corset he was wearing earlier, but he’d bent over suddenly and the lacings had ripped out. The cheap plastic boning had bent too, making it completely unwearable, so in the garbage it went, while Dick swore angrily, switching between several languages. He stares at his painted gold nails, checking for chips and then takes out a compact mirror to check his gold eyeshadow, still flawless, his eyeliner, still sharp, and his gold lipstick, still not in need of reapplication.

The empty tiny library is filled only with books on the occult, demonology and magic. It doesn’t officially exist on the blueprints of the high school; the main library where the rest of the students go is the other side of the campus, busy and filled with books and computers that will actually help them graduate. This library exists purely to keep the current slayer and her friends alive. With bookshelves lining three of the four walls up the few steps and ramp to the stacks, and four freestanding double sided bookshelves, the library is an occultist’s paradise. To the left of the doors is the cage, and the weapons on display in the wire box aren’t even trying to be hidden. The counter to the right hides away the office. Alfred Pennyworth, the sole librarian for this small repository of books comes out of his office in his sharp three piece charcoal suit, with two mugs of tea and sits down at the table passing one of the mugs to Dick.

“Thanks, Kid.” Dick says to Alfred, who is easily sixty years old, and only a kid by Dick’s definition. But then Dick’s 1070 years old. Everyone’s a kid to him.

“You’re welcome, Richard.” Alfred says blandly. In return for Dick constantly calling Alfred ‘kid’, Alfred will only call him Richard, as he knows Dick _hates_ it. It’s their form of banter, really, and six months of living together have softened their tones from outright hostile to openly fond. 

Dick sips at his tea, and stares at the pile of books in front of him. He’s actually forgotten what it is they’re supposed to be researching today. Well, alright, it was more he wasn’t paying attention earlier when Tim had brought his concerns about the football team to the rest of the group, but honestly how was Dick supposed to concentrate on Tim’s ranting when he was eating a bowl of Crocky Crunch? Dick has priorities, and Tim’s paranoia about the sportsball team is not one of them. Unless they turn into ravening people-eating monsters, which is a legitimate concern on a Hellmouth like Gotham, then Dick’s not interested.

It’s after school hours now and Dick’s so bored, he almost wants to get in a fight with a bad guy just to not have to read anymore. It’s a case of be careful what you wish for, as no sooner has Dick thought that then Barbara bursts in through the swinging double doors of the library, her strong arms shown off by her sleeveless black top and jeans, wheeling her chair up with a speed that still surprises Dick.

“Dick, we need your help. The Red Hood’s causing some trouble at the Clocktower.” Barbara pushes her glasses up and jerks her head at him. “Come on!”

“Right behind you, Barbara.” Dick sighs, getting up and bracing himself for the local nightclub that all the high school kids like to frequent. It’s not Dick type of club at all, no alcohol, too much pop music and a strict ‘no drugs no sex’ policy. The no sex policy is the one that Dick hates the most. He’s over a millennium old, if he wants some musclebound gymbunny to ream him in a club bathroom that’s no one’s business but his and any consensual voyeurs that he agrees to. 

The Clocktower is only five minutes from the school campus, part of the reason it’s so popular, and when Dick gets there the Red Hood has already scared most of the humans away. The dance floor is empty, and the tables and chairs around the perimeter are knocked over and abandoned. The few remaining humans are either too scared to move, or in on the fact that the supernatural not only exists, but is drawn to this city like moths to the flame. The Red Hood, so imaginatively named that Dick always rolls his eyes when he hears it, is called that because he wears black leather jacket with a red hood underneath drawn over his head to hide his features. A black mask underneath hides his skin tone. The only parts of his face visible are his red eyes. His black gloves, jeans and motorcycle boots, the kind that make Dick want to get to his knees and lick them, completely cover the rest of him.

“You’re late, Dick! I thought I was going to take him on by myself.” Stephanie calls out to him cheerfully, her eggplant yoga pants and black workout top making it easy for her to parkour off the bar over a random vampire that was stupid enough to be the Hood’s minion before staking him with ease.

“Sorry, Steph. I was doing my nails and I forgot to buy the quick drying stuff!” Dick calls back, grabbing a pool cue from the nearby table and spearing an oncoming attacker through the heart with ease. The guy turns to dust instantly and Dick moves closer to the Red Hood, who’s standing back towards the club’s stage radiating displeasure. 

“A late dramatic entrance? How cliché.” The Red Hood growls, and not for the first time Dick wonders what part of his voice he’s faking, because the slight twang it has is so distracting and oddly familiar. Dick thinks it’s the accent - generic American – that’s the put on. The deep growl and rage are real, there’s no faking that. 

“Well, what can I say? I like to have all eyes on me.” Dick jokes, swinging the pool cue at his head and pouting when the vampire breaks it with two fingers. He ignores the twinge of lust in his gut at the open display of strength.

“No one likes an attention whore, _Dick_.” The Hood snarls, grabbing him by the throat and shoving him backward, out of the door of the club into the alley outside. Dick grabs at his hand futilely. He really hopes that this isn’t how he dies. Choked to death or neck broken in a seedy alleyway. One of the few things he lives his second life by is Jason’s desire to die on his feet with a weapon in his hand. He has little left to remember Jason by except for his huge jewellery collection. Holding on to his values is one of them.

“I’m not into this without a safeword.” Dick wheezes out as the Red Hood squeezes his throat tighter.

“Cute. You almost look scared, _Dick_. Your heartbeat is going crazy. Wait... your heartbeat... your heartbeat? Why do you have a heartbeat?” The Hood sounds surprised. “You’re Dick Grayson, the infamous Nightwing! Thousand year old vampire that cut a bloody swathe through Europe and terrorised it for centuries. The last vampire to kill a Slayer on his own. You don’t have a heartbeat. How?”

“I guess you didn’t get the memo? I’m human now. Surprise!” Dick gasps, and he hates that his body is reacting to being manhandled and choked with lust instead of panic. The Hood lets go, backing up a few steps and Dick slumps down against the wall, trying to control his breathing.

“Human? Human. No. No, this can’t be.” The Hood’s muttering to himself. “No. NO. How am I supposed to get my revenge on you now?”

“Uh...” Dick says, wondering who the hell this guy is and exactly what Dick could have done to piss him off so much that he hates him enough to incite a gang war. Dick’s had over 800 years to gain enemies after all.

“No, no, no, no, no!” the Hood mutters and then suddenly slams his fist into the brick wall showering them both with brick dust. He pulls his arm back, and twists to look at Dick again. “No. This changes _nothing_. I’ll have to make some minor adjustments to the plan, but it changes nothing. I’m not going to kill you now. I’m going to destroy everything you hold dear, slowly. I’ll ruin you and your little human friends. And then, only then will I lay a finger on you. By the time I’m done you’ll be _begging_ for death.” 

“Sounds like a good time. You going to tell me your name, so I know who to curse?” Dick quips back, despite how his bruised throat throbs and aches, trying to ignore just how turned on those threats have made him.

“And ruin all your frustration at not knowing? I think not.” The Hood reaches up and presses his thumb to Dick’s lip. Dick reacts without thinking, hand shooting up to grab and pull away the Hood’s black mask. It falls from Dick’s limp fingers as he sees a very familiar face. One he first saw 814 years ago.

 

Constantinople, 1204:

Ricard is entirely bored tonight. He’s sitting at the window staring out into the streets and lit windows of Constantinople, hoping for some entertainment of watching the people scurry about at night. So far he’s been let down, but things take a turn for the more interesting when he spots a giant walking down the street. The giant’s dressed in the style of the Norsemen, all fur, leather and a thick woven fabric tunic with loose leg coverings. Dark hair pulled back from his face into a thick braid over the top of his skull, and shaved at the sides, showing off the tattoos on his head, neck and shoulders, so vivid against his pale skin. His beard is cropped close enough that there’s barely a finger’s width hanging down. He’s _tall_ and wide, and the twin axes carried on his back are clearly the reason for the size of those arms. Ricard’s considered unnaturally tall, but this man? He’s got to have at least half a head of height on him.

As he draws closer, Ricard realises the man is vampire. He can feel it from halfway down the street, and the power coming from him is an old, strong bloodline. Strangely though, he doesn’t seem to have felt Ricard, or at least hasn’t given any sign of it. The ability to feel the power of an unfamiliar vampire, and determine if they’re friend or foe is only felt once, on first meeting. So it’s imperative that any vampire pays attention to it. It’s a useful ability, but not one that Ricard’s used all that often. It’s not until he’s come up to the edge of Ricard’s coven’s compound that his brow furrows as he feels Ricard’s power. When he finally looks up to Ricard’s window and their eyes meet, Ricard sees the man’s face go from confusion to recognition to surprise. Ricard smiles and rolls out of the window, his rich loose clothing floating and swirling around him pleasantly, inky black hair swishing down around his elbows like wings, landing in front of the giant.

“Welcome to Constantinople, brother.” Ricard keeps the pleasant smile on his face. But the giant simply tilts his head, staring at him with a blank look on his face. Maybe he doesn’t speak Byzantine. Ricard tries again in Latin, to the same blank look. And again in French, with no success. He tries one of the northern Germanic languages and understanding flickers over the giant’s face.

“Not. Your. Brother.” The giant says slowly and haltingly and it’s obvious that this isn’t his first language, but he understands it enough for Ricard’s purposes. “You. Are. Like. Me?”

“Yes, I’m a vampire too.” Ricard says, slightly confused. Can’t the giant feel that?

“Vampire. That is. What we. Are?” The giant looks like he’s testing out the word, like he’s never heard it before.

“You don’t know?” Ricard circles the man, and the giant lets him. “Didn’t your sire teach you anything? You’re not fresh enough to not know these things!”

“No.” The giant says, crossing those thick forearms over his chest, in obvious anger.

“Well, that’s no good! You’ll have to come inside and meet my master. We’ll help you. What was your name again?” Ricard exclaims, offended on the giant’s behalf. What kind of sire doesn’t teach a fledgling anything? That isn’t right at all.

“...Torden.” The giant says, and the slight hitch before he speaks makes Ricard think that’s not his real name. Well, he won’t push right now; he needs to be a good host.

“Come inside, Torden. I’m Ricard. It’s wonderful to meet you.” Ricard takes Torden’s wrist and gently pulls at him to follow. 

 

Gotham, 2018:

“Jason?” Dick whispers in shock, staring at the red eyes that fade into the beautiful familiar blue green colour he’s loved for centuries. “But you’re dead. You’ve been dead for over a century! How?”

“As if you care.” Jason scoffs, dropping his faked American accent and shoving Dick away from him and grabbing his mask from the ground. “Don’t act as if you want to know what happened to me. You left me. You _abandoned_ me. I hate you. I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone. I’ll get my revenge for what you did to me. What you left me to.”

Jason spins on his heel and speeds away leaving Dick alone in the alley before Dick can even form a response. Dick stands there, arm outstretched as his heart soars in elation. Jason’s alive! Jason _hates_ him! Dick breathes deeply, a smile spreading across his face. Jason’s done all of this to get to _him_. Jason hates him. Jason’s done all this for _him_. Dick’s never felt so alive or happy.


	2. I would steal for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotham and Hastings

Gotham, 2018:

“This bitch empty. YEET.” Tim says, throwing his empty can into the trash from his seat at the library table.

“OK, Tim, I’m just going to say it. You’re entirely too white to pull off saying that.” Dick says, not looking up from his book on 16th century witchcraft. He’s not actually reading it, but the woodcuts are nostalgic.

“Me? You’re the pastiest white boy I know.” Tim retorts, offended. That would be more convincing if he wasn’t dressed like he woke up in a dumpster and had pulled on whatever was the least disgusting. His baggy jeans and terrible graphic t-shirt would be barely passable on their own, but when he adds the backwards baseball cap he looks like a typical teenage douche. 

“I’m. Not. _White_.” Dick says with a cold smile that shows all of his teeth.

“Wait, you’re not? Really? I uh, totally thought you were. You’re so pale.” Stephanie says, somewhat hesitantly.

“No. I’ve been dead over a thousand years, Steph, I’m not going to have a tan.” Dick shrugs, turning the page of his book. “I’m Romani. Or at least that’s what the people I came from are called now. I wouldn’t have called myself that when I was young.”

“What would you have called yourself?” Barbara says, closing her book and settling her elbows on the table, giving Dick her full attention.

“Byzantine.” Dick looks over to her with a slight smile, she’s pretty and her red hair is very attractive to Dick, and he likes how independent she is despite how many people want to coddle her thanks to her paraplegia. If he liked women at all, Dick thinks he’d be interested in Barbara; at least once she’s older.

“Er?” Stephanie looks confused. Dick knows geography isn’t her thing.

“Byzantium became Constantinople, then Istanbul.” Dick adds, hoping that helps. 

“Where’s Istanbul.” Or possibly not since, Steph still looks confused.

“Turkey.” Tim says, finding a map in a book and pointing it out for her.

“Oh. Cool. But you don’t consider yourself Turkish?” Stephanie flicks through a couple of pages to look at landmarks before smiling at Dick.

“No.” Dick says, smiling back. 

“ANYWAY. My point is that the football team is acting weird.” Tim interjects flicking his gaze between Dick and Stephanie and trying and failing not to glare at Dick.

“You keep saying that.” Barbara points out, flicking her long red hair over her shoulder while she turns to look at Tim.

“Because it’s true!” Tim protests.

“Fine, how are the sportsball team being weird?” Dick rolls his eyes. Teenagers, he swears. He’s glad he skipped this part of modern life. Apart from the having to go through it now, sort of.

“Football, not sportsball.” Tim complains, pouting now. Dick wonders if he’d still pout if Dick smacked his head into the table like he wants to.

“This is the only country in the world where football is played without controlling the ball with your feet. It is not football. It is sportsball.” Dick states, staring up at the ceiling and willing himself to stay in his seat.

“Sportsball!” Barbara agrees with a nod.

“ _Sportsssssballlll_!” Stephanie whisperyells standing up and pumping both arms into the air.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” Tim concedes with a defeated sigh. “But anyway, you remember last year when the ...team was shoving people into lockers and generally being total assholes?”

“Yes.” Barbara nods, encouragingly.

“Uh huh.” Steph adds, combing her long blonde hair with her fingers and turning her attention to Tim.

“No, for which I am eternally grateful.” Dick sighs. Six months as a human and he’s only felt happy in the last week when he saw Jason.

“They haven’t been like that all year. Something’s up and no one will admit it!” Tim says, leaning forward as if that will convince his audience he’s right.

“Tim...” Barbara starts to say, with the tone of someone who knows something you don’t.

“I mean seriously. They’re walking around all like ‘Oh nice shirt, dude’ and “hey Sandra, that colour really brings out your eyes’ and ‘hey heard you aced that test on Monday, congrats, brah” and no one is saying anything!” Tim continues ranting, obliviously to Barbara’s facepalm.

“If I might interject, young man.” Alfred says walking up to the library table. “The sportsball teams were all sent to various camps over the summer to help improve their attitudes. I’m sure this is simply a result of that.”

“Oh, not you too, Alfred!” Tim says, with a definite whine in his voice. “And they were?”

“Indeed.” Alfred nods, amused. His hands even slip into his trouser pockets, giving the impression that Alfred’s about to rock forward on the balls of his feet.

“Uh, well. Never mind then.” Tim says, sagging back in his seat.

“Come on guys, study hall’s nearly over. Let’s get to the cafeteria. I wanna see if they’ve finally put waffles on the lunch menu.” Steph says, pulling herself to her feet and walking over to Tim to pat him on the head sympathetically.

“They haven’t. I’m telling you now, they haven’t.” Barbara says as she wheels herself after Stephanie.

“Aww.” Stephanie moans as they go through the double doors of the library, holding one open for Barbara automatically.

“Come on Tim!” Barbara calls back to him.

“I’m coming.” Tim says, not moving from his chair at all.

“Oh, and Tim?” Dick says, walking over and leaning in close to him. 

“Yeah?” Tim says, lifting his head up and looking straight at Dick.

“ _Sportsball_...” Dick grins, before spinning on his heel and walking after the girls.

“Aaaargh.” Tim’s yell echoes out into the hallway and Dick chuckles to himself.

***

Dick’s sitting at his usual spot at staring up at Stephanie, who’s currently standing on top of their table in the cafeteria, delivering a blistering speech about the wonders of tater tots and combining them with waffles and how the school cafeteria is denying them their basic human rights by not providing both of these things and maple syrup on a daily basis.

Dick half wishes he were somewhere else, the applause and stomping and the crowding round of people agreeing with Steph is getting a bit overwhelming; and the other half is proud of her for stirring up such emotion in a few short minutes. If the Slaying thing doesn’t work out for her, and she doesn’t die of course, then she’s got a fantastic career in motivational speaking ahead of her.

Barbara is laughing into her clenched fist, trying to look like she’s not and not really succeeding. Tim is hollering and clapping at her speech, in an over the top attempt to support her. Dick privately thinks that Tim should just ask her out already. Not that he’ll say anything to that effect. Giving Tim any sort of support about his love life is, in Tim’s mind, permission for him to whine about it to you all the time, as Barbara has found out. Dick’s definitely wasn’t born yesterday, and therefore will keep his thoughts to himself. 

When Mr Wayne finally comes in to find out what all the noise is about, just as Stephanie yells out ‘Go sportsball team!”, Dick slips away from the crowd, and out the back door, finding a quiet spot in the outdoor eating area. He sits at one of the concrete picnic tables, some sort of art installation he was told. Dick thinks they look like communist Russia attempting to capture the whimsy of Winnie the Pooh and not getting the genteel Englishness at all. Dick tilts his face back, letting the sun’s rays soak into his skin. He hears the school bell ring and considers simply not going back inside for once. Not being surrounded by crowds of hormonal teenagers uninterested in learning or utterly disenfranchised with the public schooling system sounds wonderful.

He sighs, standing up and heading inside. Mr Wayne has an extra close eye kept on him, labelled him a disruptive influence as soon as he was forced to enrol, by Mr Wayne himself, no less! As the best kind of fuck you Dick can manage without upsetting the precarious balancing act of keeping Wayne happy and himself protected from the enemies lurking at the metaphorical gates, Dick’s decided to be a model, straight A student. It not only keeps Wayne happy, but Alfred too. And when Alfred’s happy he loosens the restrictive rules that Dick has to live by now. Which gives Dick a chance to go out and blow off steam the only way he can these days.

Sneaking into the one adult gay bar in town and letting the ‘older’ men buy him drinks and take him into the bathroom has been the only thing that got him through the last six months. But Jason’s back. _Alive!_ And suddenly the children he’d been playing with recently have lost all appeal. He doesn’t want them. He wants Jason. 

Dick walks himself into homeroom on autopilot, thinking about the best ways to seduce his ex without seeming too eager. Jason had never liked it when Dick seduced people to feed, and unless he’d picked the person himself, got jealous and often intervened in a way that always thrilled Dick down to the deepest parts of him and tore him away from his target of the night and right back into Jason’s arms. He’s got to find the fine line between breaking down the wall of anger Jason’s built up and keeping that passion going. After all, hate is like love. You have to work at it, pour effort into it to keep going with that amount of passion and not just get comfortable with it. And true hate, just like true love is all consuming. You have to give every part of yourself over to it.

Finding the chink in Jason’s emotional armour to make him fall into bed with Dick is going to be the hardest yet most rewarding thing Dick’s done in centuries. And once they’ve played catch the axe again; Dick knows it’ll take barely any subtle encouraging to have Jason with him for good again. Because nothing compares to basking in Jason’s love. Not gorging himself on all the freshest, sweetest blood ever, not watching convents burn, or seeing the monsters that trapped him in bondage for centuries turn to ash. Nothing is better than Jason. Dick will get his lover back if it kills him. 

 

Hastings, 1066:

Todd shifts, groaning as he tries to sit up, hand automatically going to his stomach as he remembers being impaled on a spear. There’s no hole there. Why isn’t there a hole? There’s a hole in his tunic, after all. He sits up, wiping gore from his face and looks around the battlefield and the piles of English and Danish dead left lying around. The stink suggests it’s been a few days since the battle ended. Now that he’s upright, memories filter in, of lying dying on the ground in the blood and muck and mud, slowly bleeding out and his head aching from the blow that had knocked him down and scrambled his brains beyond the ability to speak. Flashes of a cloaked figure bending over him and giving him something to drink against the full heavy moon in the sky spring to mind.

As if summoned by Todd remembering, the cloaked figure approaches, laughing with glee. Todd hates him? Her? On instinct. He can feel that the figure is strong and powerful in his bones, and he’s aware of how his teeth ache in his head. Something in the figure’s accent makes him think they’re a Norman. And the fucking Normans are why Todd was flat on his back hundreds of miles from home. Todd had happily joined Harald Hardrada’s armies to invade the rest of England, and when they’d lost at Stamford Bridge, Todd had been convinced by Ivar OneEar, and to Hel with _him_ , that leaving Danelaw and joining Harold Godwinson’s army to fight off the Normans would be easy. The three day run down to Hastings on the south coast after Stamford Bridge hadn’t been easy, and the Normans had rested at their encampment before the battle. It had been a slaughter, especially after Harold had lost an eye.

The figure draws closer and throws back its hood. Todd can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, its bald white head glinting in the moonlight, and strangely toothless grin despite the two sharp fangs in its mouth do nothing to tell Todd who they are.

“Ha ha! You are awake. Come to me, my Son. I shall help you feed, and then you will be mine!” the figure crows, and that is definitely a Norman accent. 

Todd doesn’t like anything the figure just said, and reaches out for a nearby weapon. Any weapon. His hand closes around the handle of one of his own war axes, he’d know it anywhere, and once the figure leans back from its bent over position, Todd uses all the strength he has left to throw the axe. It goes through the figure’s neck like an oar through water. The figure explodes into dust, and Todd’s left blinking, wondering what in the nine realms just happened.

Todd staggers to his feet, suddenly aware of just how incredibly thirsty he is. He grabs for both of his axes and stumbles away, seeing a pool of water close by. He collapses to his knees, bracing himself on his hands as he shoves his face into the puddle. He drinks it down as fast as he can, and it’s only when he kneels back up he realises that puddle wasn’t water. It was blood.

Todd stares at his reflection in the dark liquid. His eyes glow red, he has fangs in his mouth like the figure did, and he’s the pale corpse like figure of dead. What has been done to him? What kind of fucking monster is he now?

 

Gotham, 2018:

Being of an age to remember the turn of the millennium before the last one, Dick’s had a lot of opportunities to not only make a lot of money, but own many, many clothes. In fact, unless Jason had forced him to throw something away, Dick would keep it. Which means that he has several vaults in various banks in various countries stuffed full of clothes. In Gotham however, Dick had bought up the local haunted house to home all the possessions he wanted to keep close. The local haunted house in this case is actually a manor house on the outskirts of the city. It gives Dick a delicious sense of schadenfreude that the manor that used to belong to Mr Wayne’s family is now his giant walk in closet. He has the rooms separated into centuries, and one of his favourite things to do is to wander through them, reminiscing about the times he wore them, memories attached to each individual item like a fragrance. 

His favourite room is also the most painful to enter. His Jason room. The room where he keeps most of the clothes that Jason gave to him, or were worn during a particularly special moment. He still has the dress he was wearing when they slept together for the first time. The tunic he was wearing the first time Jason burnt down a convent for him. The doublet that Jason was wearing when they met Shakespeare, and of course some of the gold and jewels that Jason had given him over the years. The truly expensive pieces are in bank vaults, but the sentimental ones, that Jason had given him because they reminded him of Dick, the cheap blue glass of Venice, the tin bird from London, the pearl earrings from Amsterdam, they’re kept all in a large safe in the Jason room in the manor. 

He wanders through the halls, picking out what he wants to wear for the coming week. He needs to look good in case he runs into Jason again.

*** 

Dick strolls in through the front door, arms full of vintage clothing, with barely thirty seconds to go on the clock before he would be breaking curfew. Alfred’s sitting on a sofa, facing the front door with a practiced bland look on his face.

“Cutting it rather close, Richard.” Alfred says, taking the book from the side table next to him and flipping it open. “I would hate to have to report to Mr Wayne that you’re breaking the rules.”

“Curfew for someone over a thousand years old is ridiculous.” Dick says, laying his pile of clothes over the back of the second sofa in the open plan living space. He wanders into the kitchen area to grab a glass of milk and comes back in, sitting down opposite Alfred. “Did you have fun while I was out? Did you raise hell and throw a house party like you young ‘uns love to these days?”

“Hardly.” Alfred snorts delicately. “I enjoyed the silence for once, and caught up on my reading.”

“Oh? And how is Fifty Shades of Gray going?” Dick grins, waiting for Alfred’s response. It comes in the form a cushion chucked at his head. 

“If you’re not careful, it’ll turn into Fifty Shades of Grayson at the hands of the Red Hood.” Alfred says, turning the page of his book and not even looking up.

“You say that like I wouldn’t enjoy it...” Dick sighs, leaning back into the sofa. He sips his milk and stares out of the window at the darkness of night encroaching on the little patio area outside. He’s still fond of the nocturnal hours, even as he soaks up the sunlight during the day. His skin is finally taking on the golden hue that he remembers from his youth, Steph says it makes him look healthy, but Dick remembers Jason complementing him on the creamy look of skin while they were laying in bed, hiding from the sun.

“That’s rather more information about you than I’m comfortable knowing.” Alfred says, drawing Dick out of his musings.

“Ha!” Dick’s about to make a mocking comment, but he actually looks at Alfred and sees the hint of worry on his face. Dick feels an emotion he’s both intimately familiar with and yet not. Guilt. It’s not something he associates feeling with anyone but Jason. Feeling it in regards to Alfred is disquieting. “You don’t need to worry about that. Now that he knows I’m human, he’s promised not to lay a finger on me. Prefers the mental and emotional torture of formerly vampiric humans, I suppose...”

“Why would he do that?” Alfred says, looking up from his book at Dick in surprise.

“Oh... Didn’t I say? Turns out I know him.” Dick shrugs trying to downplay the elation he still feels at the thought that Jason’s _alive_. “But then I know a great deal of people... well, demons and vampires and werewolves. It’s not really surprising that he’s one of them, is it?”

“No, I suppose not.” Alfred says, frowning faintly. “It is surprising that it’s taken this long for one of your enemies to come for you, if we stop to think about it.” 

“Well, the honeymoon had to end sometime, didn’t it?” Dick stretches up and feels a pleasant crack of bones as he does. “Well, bedtime for this old man, I think.” Dick stands up and heads towards the stairs, ready to turn in for the night.

“Huh-hmm.” Alfred says pointedly, jerking his head to the pile of clothes on the table when Dick turns to look at him.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Kid.” Dick collects his clothes and heads to bed. 

“You’re welcome, Richard. Goodnight.” Alfred calls out as Dick goes up the stairs.

“Night!” Dick says, for once looking forward to the new day coming.


	3. I'd do time for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constantinople, Gotham and Venice

Constantinople, 1204:

Todd’s been wandering the earth for 138 years now, and he’s not met a monster like himself. He wonders if killing the one who made him has cursed him to never have answers. His feet have travelled all over England (Fuck the Normans), Denmark, Prussia, and now Byzantium, sorry, Constantinople. It’s a beautiful city, Todd can admit, but he’s not as impressed as the locals think he should be. But that might be because he knows the crusaders are at the door and deeply unhappy. So he’s wandering around, hoping to find the man he was told lives around here. The one who might know how to lift this curse he’s under. 

He’s halfway along the street by a massive mansion complex when he feels it. The same sort of power that he felt when he was made. Todd scans the street, but doesn’t see anyone emanating any power. When he finally looks up, he sees a figure in the window and their eyes meet. That’s the power he’s been looking for, from this distance and thanks to the locals’ way of dress, Todd can’t tell if the long haired, surprisingly pretty-faced figure is a man or a woman. The woman? Man? smiles and rolls out of the window, their rich loose clothing floating and swirling around them like a bird, inky black hair swishing down around their shoulders like wings, landing in front of Todd.

The person says something in the local dialect and Todd could kick himself for not learning it. Their voice is light and sweet, and Todd thinks they might be a woman more than they’re a man. He’ll have to find some way to ask later, once they can understand each other. Either way, they’re beautiful. Todd tilts his head, staring at the person blankly. They speak again in a different language that Todd still doesn’t know. And then again, and Todd still doesn’t understand. 

“Welcome to Constantinople, brother.” The person says in a Germanic language that sounds similar to something Todd knows. It’s close enough that he can try to respond anyway.

“Not. Your. Brother.” Todd says slowly and carefully, hoping it’s close enough to what the other knows. “You. Are. Like. Me?”

“Yes, I’m a vampire too.” The person says, slightly confused. Todd has a name for what he is. He wonders why that doesn’t make him happy.

“Vampire. That is. What we. Are?” Todd thinks he pronounced that right, but the word is sticking inside his mouth, consonants not feeling right.

“You don’t know?” The pretty one circles Todd, looking him over and Todd lets them. “Didn’t your sire teach you anything? You’re not fresh enough to not know these things!”

“No.” Todd says. He only understood about half of that, the pretty one’s using words he’s never heard before and he crosses his arms over his chest, angry that he doesn’t understand.

“Well, that’s no good! You’ll have to come inside and meet my master. We’ll help you. What was your name again?” The person exclaims, obviously offended on Todd’s behalf. And now Todd has to come up with a name. He doesn’t know this _vampire_ , doesn’t know their intentions. There’s no way he’s giving them his true name. If this one and their people use magic, Todd will have no protection from it.

“...Torden.” Todd says, dredging up the old nickname he’d had when he was alive. Torden: the thunderclap, so named because of the loud noise Todd could produce when he slammed his twin war axes together, right before he’d cut his enemies head off.

“Come inside, Torden. I’m Ricard. It’s wonderful to meet you.” Ricard takes Todd’s wrist and gently pulls at him to follow. Todd thinks that Ricard sounds like a man’s name, maybe.

Ricard pulls him inside the mansion, chattering away and Todd only catches about half of what he says. Eventually after going through sumptuously decorated hallways and stairs, Ricard leads him into an empty room, the shutters to the windows thrown wide and the floor covered with large pillows on which to lounge. Todd thinks this might have been the room Ricard jumped out of earlier.

“So! Welcome to my room.” Ricard smiles at Todd. Todd stands there awkwardly as Ricard flops back onto several of the stacked cushions. “Oh! Wait, I have something that’ll make talking easier...” Ricard stands up and walks towards Todd, lifting their left thumb up to their mouth. They slide their thumb along one of their fangs and waits until it beads up with blood. They offer it towards Todd. Todd narrows his eyes but leans in and licks the bead of blood into his mouth. 

“Now you.” Ricard reaches for Todd’s wrist again, but Todd lifts it to his own mouth and cuts his thumb quickly, offering it to Ricard, who sucks his whole thumb into their mouth with a small sigh. Todd yanks it out, wiping his thumb on his top. “Give that a moment... did it help?” 

“How would that help?” Todd rolls his eyes until he realises that had come out smoothly and possibly in the language that Ricard had first spoken to him.

“Ah, it did! Wonderful.” Ricard beams at him, and then spins round to sit in their mound of pillows. “I have so many questions for you. And probably some answers for you, it looks like.”

“If you say so.” Todd mutters, toeing one of the pillows off a pile and trying to cross his legs as he sits down on it. It’s not very comfortable. 

“So, Torden... You didn’t know you were a vampire? What exactly did your sire tell you?” Ricard says with a look of interest on their pretty face.

“I knew I needed to drink blood to survive, and that daylight burns. I didn’t know the word.” Todd shrugs. “What the fuck is a sire?”

“A sire is the one who gifts you with the bite to become a vampire. They teach you how the ways of the night. Apparently your sire didn’t even teach you the basics! Did they name you?” Ricard looks insulted at the thought Todd was left to fend for himself.

“Uh, name me?” Todd tilts his head. That sounds... unsettling.

“When you pass from your human life to your vampire one, your sire gives you a new name to celebrate your rebirth.” Ricard explains sincerely. “And since you didn’t know that, I’m going to guess that your sire didn’t name you Torden.”

“No.” Todd shifts on his pillow. “To be honest, I killed the monster that made me this way the second I woke up. It didn’t have any time to teach me much of anything.”

“You... killed your sire? How?” Ricard leans forward with a horrified but excited look on their face.

“Used my axe to cut its head off.” Todd gestures to the war axes strapped to his back.

“Oh. No, I meant _how_? How did you even manage to raise a hand against him? That shouldn’t be possible!” Ricard exclaims, and Todd sees a hint of longing in their eyes. Seems like Ricard’s not all that happy with his sire.

“Just did.” Todd shrugs. His memories of that day are a little hazy, but he knows it didn’t take much effort or any thought to do it.

“Amazing.” Ricard breathes out and then seems to recover themselves. “Look at me! I’m being a terrible host. Would you like something to drink? We have fresh young boy or girl, or older if that’s what you prefer?”

“I’m fine. Thanks. Ate before I came out.” Todd says, narrowing his eyes at the implication they have humans around to eat at whim.

“Well. My master should be back shortly. I’ll take you down to meet him. He can answer your questions much better than I can.” Ricard says, sheepishly. Despite himself, Todd finds he likes Ricard. 

“You might know this?” Todd gets up to stare out of the window. “I heard there was an alchemist here. That he could cure me of this curse. Do you know of such a man?”

“I... No. I don’t.” Ricard says, coming up to stand next to Todd. “Why would you want to be cured? You don’t like being a vampire?”

“I don’t mind it.” Todd admits. “It’s... my people, our gods. I was supposed to die on my feet with my war axes in my hands, and then the Valkyries would take me up to Valhalla to feast until the end of the world. I don’t think they’d mind that I took a detour for bit, but I want to get there eventually.”

“Oh, I guess that would make sense. What are ...walkur and ...walhal?” Ricard looks so interested, Todd finds himself explaining. They talk about Todd’s travels to get here and Ricard has such a look of longing on their face, Todd has to ask.

“Haven’t you ever travelled? You’re older than me; you can’t have spent all your time here in the city?” Todd studies the planes of Ricard’s face. They look sadder than anyone smiling that much should.

“I travelled as a human child. We were fleeing a war and came here for safety. But my parents died and Master took me in. I lived here as a servant for ten years before Master turned me at sixteen summers.” Ricard says. “I haven’t left the compound beyond the street outside ever since. You?”

“I was twenty-two. So, for all your finery here, you’re just a caged bird, aren’t you?” Todd says and Ricard flinches and looks away, and Todd knows he hit the nail on the head.

“My master has returned. We should go down and greet him.” Ricard says with no trace of a smile. 

They go downstairs to a gloomy room on the ground floor, and Todd can make out about six people standing or sitting around the walls of the room, all clearly deferring to the masked man sitting in a chair on raised dais. His hands are covered with gloves tipped with sharp birdlike talons. There’s an air of madness about him that feels diseased to Jason.

“Master. This is Torden, he has no coven and came to the city in search of an alchemist with a cure.” Ricard introduces Todd with the barest hint of distain.

“A cure for what?” The ancient vampire wheezes. “He will join our coven. We are in need of a strong man.” Todd narrows his eyes at the coven leader.

“I’m not staying.” He tells him bluntly.

“Your opinion matters not.” The coven leader waves a hand at him. “Subdue him.”

Todd pulls his axes from his back and throws one at the leader. It slices through his neck, beheading him as easily as it did with Todd’s own sire. The others panic, going into a frenzy as their leader turns to dust. They attack Todd with no thought, and less than a minute later Ricard’s entire coven is gone, turned into little piles of ash on the floor.

“Well, that was a complete fucking waste of time.” Todd grunts, retrieving the axe that had embedded itself in the wall behind there the leader had been sitting, and stowing his axes on his back again. Todd wanders outside, looking through the carts they have in the stable area. Ricard follows after him silently.

“You killed them.” Ricard says, staring at Todd like they don’t know if they should fall to their knees and beg for mercy or run for their life.

“Told you it was easy. If your master couldn’t even be bothered with the basics of hospitality, then I’m certainly not bound to those rules either.” Todd selects a covered wagon and hitches two horses to it. They’re going free now, after all. “You can do what you want now, you know. Go where ever you want, associate with whoever you want. You can fly free now, pretty bird.”

“Can I come with you?” Ricard says, hovering a few feet away, biting their lip.

“If you want.” Todd grunts, turning the horses towards the gate. “Go grab us some cloaks and any jewellery you can find. I’ll wait.”

“Thank you! Wait, why jewellery?” Ricard says, pausing as they turn away to run back inside. 

“We can sell it on the road for shelter. That and the Crusaders are about to attack and sack this place. Anything you want to keep we need to take with us.” Todd grins. He’ll never turn down any loot. It’s been a while since he went vikingr but the urge has never left him. 

***

It’s been a long two months on the road, but Todd’s enjoyed it despite himself. Ricard’s proven to be a worthy travel partner. They’re sociable, good looking, and as such, not only attract easy meals for them, but discounts at the various inns they’ve stayed in.

“You know, I think it’s about time you had your vampire name!” Ricard declares one night, while they’re camping. Travelling at night is a bit suspicious, and with their cloaks and the covering of the wagon, moving during the day is working out quite well.

“Do you.” Todd asks keeping his face bland, even though he’s amused.

“I do! Hmm. What can I name you?” Ricard says, although there’s a glint in their eye that Todd’s learnt means trouble. In this case, Ricard’s probably already come up with something.

“I dread to think.” Todd says dryly.

“Don’t be mean!” Ricard laughs, and it’s free and open like Todd thought they couldn’t laugh when they first met. “Hmmm, well let’s see... You’re searching for a cure... And you set me free, which is a type of healing... How about Jason?”

“Jason... That’s actually not too bad. I’ll give it a try.” Todd- Jason says, surprised.

“Don’t sound so surprised! How rude.” Ricard bites back a pleased grin at Jason’s agreement. 

“This coming from the person who named our horses _wingboy and flying rat_! I had every right to be worried, Ricard.” Todd laughs, and Ricard pouts. But Jason catches that look on their face that they always get when Jason calls them Ricard. “Hmm, since I’m your new coven now, does that mean I get to name you too?”

“You... You’d give me a new name?” Ricard looks down shyly. Oh, yeah, the pretty bird wants a new name alright. “I’d like that.”

“Alright, then. Hey, what was your name when you were human? Maybe that’ll help me decide on your new one.” Jason asks, tipping back in the sand to stare at the stars.

“Oh. I ...don’t remember. It’s been so long. When the master took me in they only called me boy until I was turned.” Ricard says with a distant look in their eyes, moving to lie next to Jason.

“That’s... really sad.” Jason blurts out and then kicks himself when Ricard looks hurt. “Alright, new name... new name. Ricard... Ricard... Ric... Ricricricricricticticticdicdicdic... Dick.”

“Dick?” Ricard looks at him with an incredulous eyebrow raise.

“Dick. It suits you.” Jason says, because somehow it really does feel right.

“You literally repeated my name until you said it wrong! And you mocked my naming abilities!” Dick stares at him.

“Well, if you’d rather be called something like Deepbite the world eater?” Jason says trying to keep a straight face. “Or Suckhard, gorger of blood?” 

“You know what, Dick is absolutely fine.” Dick says shaking their head and grinning. “Deepbite the world eater and Suckhard, gorger of blood! Honestly, Jason.”

 

Gotham, 2018:

“And this is the weirdo library. As in, it’s not only weird and smells like ass, but only the weirdos use it.” Mal Duncan of the school sportsball team says, pushing open the door and pointing inside.

Dick looks up and his newly beating heart stops. Jason’s standing there, like a hulking beast in a leather jacket, tight white t-shirt, blue jeans, and motorcycle boots, hair falling over his forehead and begging to be touched, although Dick’s never seen that white stripe in his hair before. He’s clean-shaven, looking like the best bad boy fantasy of a 1980’s housewife... and holding a folder? What the hell? Dick realises that Jason’s standing in a beam of light from one of the high up windows and showing no signs of burning. Dick’s knees feel wobbly and he’s glad he’s sitting down because what the actual fuck?

“Weirdo library huh? Interesting.” Jason says with that feral wolfish smirk that Dick knows so well, staring right at him. “Didn’t know weirdos were so _pretty_ in this town.” Dick blinks, realising that Jason’s using his natural English accent. No one else in the room has heard the Red Hood speak except with his faked American accent. Dick feels tied to the spot, unable to talk. 

“It’s how we grow them.” Barbara says from the other side of the table and Jason swings his attention from Dick over to her. “You must be new. I’m Barbara.”

“That so? And, yeah, I am. Jason.” Jason walks into the library proper, not caring that he’s annoying his tour guide. “I’d say nice place you got here, but man, it really does stink of arse. How do you stand it?”

“You get used to it.” Barbara smiles at Jason, but the usual strong confidence of it is shaking slightly as Jason walks right over to her and looms with his height. He’s not so out of place tall in modern times as he was when they first met, but given that Barbara is in a chair the difference is still unnerving.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Jason says, and that smile promises nothing good. Barbara doesn’t wheel herself away to her credit though, and that’s what finally unglues Dick’s tongue in his mouth, and his body from his chair.

“Hi. I’m Dick.” He says, moving over to Jason and Barbara and leaning into Jason’s personal space. Barbara takes the opportunity to wheel away to retrieve another book from the stacks, making it look casual.

“That’s a terrible name. Or great advertising, I can’t decide.” Jason says with a nasty look in his eyes.

“Oh, I like to think it’s both.” Dick says with a flirty smile, and he watches the humour in Jason’s eyes turn hard.

“I’m sure you do.” Jason scoffs, not moving away in the slightest. He stands up straighter, the way he always does before a fight.

“Jason... I don’t know exactly what you think I did to you, but I promise, whatever you think happened, _isn’t_ how it was for me.” Dick whispers, keeping his voice low, knowing that Jason’s vampiric hearing will catch it. “I thought you were dead. You were in a burning theatre when it collapsed! There was no way you could have survived! I _mourned_ you. I would never have left if I thought you were still alive.” 

“You didn’t exactly stick around to check, did you? Couldn’t get away fast enough.” Jason snarls back quietly. “You think I don’t know what you did after you left Vienna? How you drank and danced and cock-hopped your way around? It’s disgusting.”

“Jason.” Dick blinks, breath caught in his throat. He can’t deny that. It’s exactly what he did in his grief. He tried to numb the pain with as much blood, partying and meaningless sex as he could. It didn’t work, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

“And then you killed a Slayer. Really bettered your reputation, didn’t you.” Jason hisses. “Guess I was just holding you back all those centuries.”

“I... No.” Dick stammers. “No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t meant to survive that. I was trying to die. I thought if I died killing a Slayer, then maybe, maybe one of your valkyrie would come and take me to you in Valhalla. I wasn’t supposed to win.”

“You expect me to believe that? You _turned_ her, Dickie.” Jason steps back, sneer on his face. “I’m going to destroy you and everything you care about.”

“I only care about you.” Dick blurts out, and the sneer on Jason’s face flickers for a moment before coming back full force.

“Nice try.” Jason says, disbelief obvious.

“It’s the truth!” Dick whispers fiercely. 

“Well, I can’t stand the smell of shit around here anymore. I’ll see you around, I guess, loser.” Jason says, loud enough that Mal waiting at the door looks up from his phone and brightens with a smile as Jason walks over to him.

“Hey, so, you wanna check out the football team next? We’re pretty good.” Mal says as Jason gets closer.

“Sure, sounds good.” Jason smiles at him and they leave the library.

Dick collapses back into his chair, his mind awhirl with questions and confusion. How is Jason, a vampire, walking around in the daytime like the sun is nothing? 

Why the hell would he enrol in high school? Is he being forced to enrol? What the actual fucking hell happened in Vienna to make him think that Dick left him willingly? Dick bites his lip and wonders if he can get Jason to talk to him about it. Not knowing will drive him crazy. Almost as crazy as knowing that Jason saw him in his lazy day clothes of a plain t-shirt and jeans and not the fantastic outfit Dick had spent hours picking out to drive Jason into a frenzy of lust. Oh well, he’ll just have to wear it tomorrow, now that he knows Jason will be in school to see it.

 

Venice, 1220:

Jason watches with amusement as Dick dances their way up the stairs to their apartment, twirling and stepping in time with their humming. Their long skirts flare out each time they turn, spinning on the spot at the top of the wide stone staircase.

“That was the most fun I’ve had in long time that didn’t involve eating everyone!” Dick says as Jason meets them on the top step.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Jason says with a straight face. “It did go surprisingly well. It wasn’t such a bad idea.”

“And you thought it was a bad idea for me to pose as your wife! Well, I proved _you_ wrong.” Dick giggles, and Jason wonders if Dick’s still drunk.

“I didn’t say you posing as my wife was a bad idea. I just didn’t think anyone would believe it.” Jason protests as he unlocks their door, and Dick dances past him into their rooms.

“Why wouldn’t they? We make a very handsome couple! Everyone said so.” Dick says, untying their plain white leather mask from their face and dropping it onto a chair.

“I’m not exactly a catch according to Venetian society, Dick. Poor with no title, but a wife like that? Oh, the gossip. How did you manage to catch her?” Jason says, mimicking the high voice of their host for the evening. Jason unties his matching mask and drops it next to Dick’s. 

“That man was an idiot. If he knew how much gold and jewels you’ve given me over the years, he’d know what a catch you are!” Dick says, taking off their veil and undoing their hair from the complicated twist they’d pinned it up in, still humming and spinning.

“We’ll eat him first. No, first we’ll eat his family _then_ him, really make him suffer.” Jason says, grinning as Dick draws him into the open space of the room and pulls his hands up into the dancing position of the quadrille. 

“Oh, absolutely.” Dick says, smiling up at him and spinning them around. Each time they spin, Dick gets closer and closer to Jason, until their chests are almost touching and Dick’s looking up at him with real happiness in their eyes.

Jason’s not sure which of them move to close the gap between them, but he does know that once their lips touch, Dick lets out a quiet moan and their arms wrap around Jason’s neck. Jason slides his arms around Dick’s waist and it feels as if they fit there. It’s been worth the sixteen years to wait until Dick offered this. 

Dick’s kisses turn frantic, hungry and Jason can’t help but give back what he’s getting. When Jason pulls back, Dick’s staring at him with wonder in their eyes and Jason feels a sense of pride at putting that look on their face.

Dick’s blue embroidered surcoat hits the floor as they pull it off, followed swiftly by their black silk gown. Jason’s own plain red surcoat, black tunic and black hose join them as Jason lifts Dick up, while Dick does their best to wrap all four limbs around him, and walks them over to the bed. Jason barely has enough time to press them down into the mattress, kissing them all the while before Dick flips them over and sits up on Jason’s legs. Their linen smock’s falling off one shoulder and the thick golden chain around their neck swings back to their body with a thud.

Dick reaches into Jason’s breechcloth and wraps their hand around Jason’s hard cock with the biggest, most delighted grin on their face that Jason’s seen in a while. 

“I knew you were big, but I didn’t realise I was going to be this lucky!” Dick leans down and kisses him again, reaching under the pillows with their free hand to grab a stoppered pot of oil.

“Since when have you been looking?” Jason gasps out as Dick does something truly wonderful with a twist of his wrist.

“For the last few years...” Dick shrugs. “Whenever I saw you with a girl I got quite jealous you were throwing your axe at her, given just how big it is.”

“My axe?” Jason snorts. “That’s a terrible name for it. I don’t throw my axes for girls to catch.”

“Hmmm, your _axe_.” Dick says with a leer and another of those wonderful twists on the upward stroke. “And believe me I’m going to catch it.”

“Less talking, more taking, Dickie.” Jason grins, shoving Dick’s smock up to their thighs, feeling the strong muscle beneath the soft, smooth skin.

“As my husband commands!” Dick laughs, undoing the pot and slicking their fingers up with the oil. Their hand disappears behind them and Jason watches as the traces of pleasure flicker across Dick’s face. After barely any time at all, Dick pulls their hand from between their thighs, spreading a little more oil on their fingers and coating Jason’s cock with it quickly. The brief sensation of touch is enough to make Jason snarl with want and Dick smirks as they shift forward, holding Jason’s cock still as they sink down on it.

Dick’s warm and tight, and oh so fucking good inside that Jason can’t believe it. He watches Dick’s face as their eyes slip shut and their mouth drops open, brows drawing together faintly in concentration. Once Dick’s seated all the way down their head tips forward and their eyes open to slits. Jason can barely make out the blue of their eyes. Dick’s hair falls all around them, shielding them from the world beyond. Dick starts rocking, and the tight pressure and friction feels so good, that Jason can’t help but buck up into them. Dick stares down at him, face open and vulnerable as they move.

“My wife.” Jason says reverently, squeezing gently at Dick’s hips as they rock back and forth.

“You feel so good. So big. Oh, Jason.” Dick moans. “Why was I wasting all my time with those other men when you were right here?”

“I was waiting for you.” Jason snarls back. “You didn’t notice all those times I beat someone to death for looking at you, all those gifts I gave you to prove I could provide.”

“I’m an idiot.” Dick gasps after a particularly hard thrust. They’re getting rougher in their movements and no one’s ever felt as good as Dick does.

“My idiot.” Jason growls loudly and Dick looks down at him with such hope and longing that it almost hurts Jason to see it. Jason sits up, pulling Dick in closer and kisses them again, trying to tell them without words just how he feels. 

“Yes...” Dick’s face is so perfect in this moment that Jason wishes he had an artist here to sketch it down so he can keep it with him always. “Yours. Yours, Jason!”

Dick rips their smock off, grabbing on to Jason’s shoulders hard enough to draw blood with their sharp nails. They ride hard and fast until they seize, clenching down hard on Jason’s cock and coming all over themselves. The utter bliss on their face tips Jason over the edge too, shooting off inside Dick with a grunt that feels ripped out of him with such force that Jason can’t do anything but collapse back onto the pillows. Dick lays on top of him, clinging tightly and Jason smiles, happy.

***

It’s nearly dawn when they begin to move, and Jason forces himself out of the bed to close the shutters and pull the large drape to shut out the morning light. He crawls back into the bed, kissing Dick on the cheek as he settles back into the pillows.

“So what are these? I always meant to ask.” Dick skims their finger up over Jason’s bicep, following the lines of his tattoos.

“That one? That’s Fenris-ulfr.” Jason says, watching as Dick trails their finger around Fenris-ulfr’s head. “Son of Loki. He’s the wolf that kills Odin AllFather, king of the gods at the end of the world.”

“And this one?” Dick says, switching to Jason’s right arm, following the lines of Mjolnir.

“Thor and his hammer.” Jason says, watching Dick’s face quirk in amusement remembering Jason’s old nickname. “Son of Odin, who kills Fenris-ulfr, but is bitten by Jörmangandr so badly that he walks nine steps and falls over dead.”

“Hmm, your end of the world prophecy is very particular.” Dick bites their lip to stop from laughing and Jason rolls his eyes at his clear amusement. “And this one? That I can barely see anymore, your hair is covering it.”

“Well, it’s a prophecy. Who needs a vague prophecy?” Jason protests. “That’s a raven. No one raven in particular, I just liked the design.”

“I like them. They suit you.” Dick says with a grin, pulling him down into the pillows with them.

“Thanks.” Jason snorts. “Not like I could change them if you didn’t.”

“Oh, and talking about thanks, I should say it to you, because last night was perfect.” Dick says, curling into Jason’s side and luxuriating in the skin contact.

“It was definitely worth waiting sixteen years for.” Jason says, grinning up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice you waiting for me.” Dick says, ducking their head down on Jason’s shoulder.

“I didn’t... I knew you needed time. When we left Constantinople you were withdrawn? You didn’t seem to want anyone. I wasn’t going to rush you.” Jason shrugs, shoving the arm not currently pulling Dick into his side under his head.

“I was enjoying not having to fuck whoever my master told me to.” Dick says quietly, finally confirming what Jason had suspected for years. Jason’s even gladder now that he killed Dick’s coven.

“I thought so.” Jason kisses the top of Dick’s head gently. “I didn’t mind waiting. We’ve got the time after all.”

“Mmm. Until you find your cure at least.” Dick says, and there’s a slight sadness to their tone that Jason has to close his eyes to.

“Well, we didn’t find it here. So there’s that I guess.” Jason says, opening his eyes to see Dick’s face hovering over his.

“You’re doing it again.” Dick sighs, shaking their head fondly. “You don’t have to protect me, Jason. You don’t have to treat me like a woman.”

“Ummm. But you are one? Why wouldn’t I treat you like that?” Jason says staring at Dick in confusion.

“What?” Now Dick looks confused too. “Jason, I’m not a woman. You’ve seen me naked, you know that. Why would you say that?”

“But you...” Jason trails off. Dick’s not a woman? But... Surely he would’ve realised if Dick is a man. Has Jason been wrong about them all this time? “I mean. You aren’t?”

“No? I’m honestly confused how you thought I was.” Dick says, and at least they- he doesn’t look angry.

“Back home. It was, well, not common, but sometimes people would realise that their bodies weren’t on the outside who they were inside.” Jason rubs at his clean-shaven chin. “Men can become women and women can become men. I thought you were one of those?”

“Because I wear gowns and fuck men, you mean.” Dick says, looking irritated and getting out of the bed to pace the room, obviously trying to keep their- his temper.

“Yes?” Jason says, as those are really two of the biggest things he knows for what it means to be a woman. Apart from having babies, running households and witchcraft, obviously.

“I’m not. Haven’t you ever heard of men who fuck men and women who fuck women. I’m one of those.” Dick snaps, and Jason knows he’s hurt them- him but it’s not Jason’s fault that that’s the way it is.

“Of course I have. But that’s... wrong. Calling someone that. You don’t do it, Dickie.” Jason shakes his head, trying to find the words. “If you call a man _that_ it’s grounds for him to kill you. And if he doesn’t kill you, then he gets hauled before the jarl and sentenced to death. It’s a bad thing, Dick.”

“You really think that?” Dick says, coming to a stop in front of him with a horrified look on their- his face.

“I.” Jason stops and thinks about it. Does he? He’s been in love with Dick for years and whatever awful thing that was supposed to happen for being with a man, even if they only fucked for the first time last night, hasn’t happened. “No.”

“So say it.” Dick glares at him, hands clenched and shoulders tense.

“Ergi.” Jason whispers. And waits. Nothing happens. Dick doesn’t attack him. The heavens don’t open and Odin’s lightning doesn’t come down to strike him dead. Nothing happens.

“See? It’s not so bad.” Dick says, coming back to the bed and sitting in front of Jason.

“No. No, it isn’t.” Jason says, feeling so confused and wondering how he could have bought into something so wrong for so long.

“You must feel stupid.” Dick says, not unkindly, but Jason’s feeling raw and the sudden magnanimity after his anger rankles.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you never felt stupid after finding out something you believed for years wasn’t true.” Jason snaps and immediately regrets it at the wince on Dick’s face. Dick, who’d spent centuries believing that they- he couldn’t raise a finger to their- his sire and consequently suffered as his whore to be given out to whoever he wanted to influence.

“That... that’s fair.” Dick says quietly, looking away from Jason. “I spent weeks feeling lost after you killed my coven.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Jason sighs. “I love you. I want you to always be there. I don’t need you to be a woman, even if you look so beautiful as one. I need _you_. You’re my coven. My everything. My wife.” 

“You mean that.” Dick breathes out, awed, staring at Jason like they- he did before they kissed for the first time.

“Of course I do. Just because I was wrong, doesn’t change who we are to each other, does it?” Jason kisses Dick and breathes out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding for centuries.

“No. No, it doesn’t. My husband.” Dick smiles at him, and Jason feels like everything is going to be fine.

 

Gotham, 2018:

The night’s surprisingly cold, and the sky is full of the usual light pollution hiding the stars from view in the otherwise cloud free sky, as Dick stands back while Stephanie takes out three newly made vampires one after the other, one, two, three. He leans against one of the few trees scattered around in the Gotham City Municipal Cemetery, watching as she kicks and punches and stakes her prey. She’s improved in the last few months that Dick’s been around her, the constant practice making her skill level rise. 

She’s not as naturally able as the previous Slayer, but then Cassandra had been an insanely talented fighter not even taking her nature as a Slayer into consideration. Dick wonders if Stephanie being wrapped up in a thick eggplant ("Eggplant, not purple, Dick!") puffer jacket, matching hat, gloves, and scarf is hampering her movement at all. If it is, she’s not complaining.

“Nice.” Dick comments as she walks away from the dust clouds settling onto the ground. “I really liked that last high kick you did there.”

“Thanks!” Steph says, smiling, her blonde hair reflecting what little light is coming from the pathway lights in the cemetery. “I thought maybe it was over the top, but it was fun?”

“Nah, it was just enough.” Dick smiles encouragingly, as they wander over to the newest patch of burials to check on. It’s the usual patrol route that they cover at least once a week. Dick thinks he could walk it in his sleep, but Steph seems to constantly be finding new ways to make it feel, if not new, then not boring.

“Talking of just enough... I heard you had a thing with the hot new guy at school?” Steph smirks, and hops over a fallen gravestone. Dick pulls his can of neon orange spray paint out of one of the deep pockets of his pea coat and tags it for the maintenance crew in the morning.

“I think ‘thing’ might be overstating it.” Dick tries to downplay it. He’s not sure why he’s keeping Jason’s secret for him; common sense says he should be telling all of the squad and both the watchers, but Dick’s keeping it quiet. Jason was always the one with the common sense, anyway. “We talked for a few minutes and then he left the library.”

“Really? Because I heard he got right up in your grill and practically gave your tonsils an exam.” Steph grins widely, and Dick rolls his eyes.

“That is an over exaggeration if ever I heard one. If I’d kissed a guy in the library, I would have told you.” Dick shrugs, kicking a clump of dirt from the path and back onto what passes for the grass around here. “Besides, you know I don’t mess with high schoolers.”

“Hmmm. Yeah, the age gap is kinda skeevy.” Stephanie nods, shoving her woollen hat back from her face. “But then again, I saw that guy from a distance and he was definitely in the ‘should be climbed like a tree’ category. Those shoulders! Damn. Those were made to cling onto while he pounds you into a wall.”

“Steph! Really.” Dick scolds, biting back a smile. “His thighs and abs are much better.”

“Ha! Yeah, they were pretty impressive. And that face. Definitely made for sitting on.” Steph whistles, letting the whistle die into a happy sigh.

“Oh hell, yes.” Dick remembers the many, many, times Jason used his mouth on him, over and over. Even simply hearing the name of the city of Seville sends a warm thrill through him.

“Man, if I was into guys my age I’d ask him out... even with the hand tattoos.” Steph says wistfully, sighing heavily. Dick bites back the instant jealousy he feels at the thought that Jason might say yes if she did. Wait, hand tattoos? Dick doesn’t remember any hand tattoos. But then again he’d been distracted by Jason’s face, and the sheer force of his contempt and the conflicting emotions of lust and alarm it had provoked in Dick.

“Don’t do that.” Dick says possessively, and Steph twists to look at him with a raised eyebrow. So Dick tries to salvage the comment. “I mean... You can do better?”

“Well, _true_.” Steph nods, but not without a considering look thrown Dick’s way. “To be honest, I kinda thought you were after that Red Hood guy. You seemed to flirt with him pretty hard.”

“Uh... I was thinking about it.” Dick says, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “He’s my type, and age. Well, probably. Old enough at least.”

“Too bad he’s our enemy and trying to kill us slowly, painfully and with maximum gore.” Steph says blandly. She hops over a low tree root from one of the other trees in the cemetery. “I thought you might go after them both, to be honest.”

“Really? Come on Steph, I have better standards than that.” Dick scowls as Stephanie doubles over in laughter, wiping tears from her eyes. It takes longer than Dick thinks is actually necessary for her to calm down.

“Oh man, that’s priceless.” Stephanie hoots, staring at Dick and biting her lip to stop from laughing again.

“Steph!” Dick says, offended. He has standards. Cocks must be at least six inches long and the guy has to be able to at least pin him down, if not hold him up against the wall, and a pretty face never hurts. Dark haired, if possible. Standards!

“Oh come on, how many times have I had to pull you out of club bathrooms with disreputable gentlemen in the last six months?” Stephanie grins, knowing that it’s been at least twice a month, if not more.

“That... is besides the point!” Dick splutters, knowing he can’t actually deny that. “But if the new guy at school makes a move, I’m going to let him, just because you laughed.”


	4. I'd wait for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Southern France, Gotham and Seville

Soon to be abandoned village in Southern France, 1348:

Jason finishes draining his third victim of the night, letting the body drop at his feet without a second thought, and goes to find a seat to watch the rest of the mayhem unfold. He moves over to one of the benches lining the walls of the village hall and perches there, searching the crowd of panicked villagers and rampaging vampires for Dick. He swipes at the blood on his face, cleaning it away from his eyes to look better. When he finally spots Dick, his blue brocade tunic is nearly brown with all the spilt blood and spatters of gore; not that Jason’s any less covered, he gives him a little wave and gets a nod in return. Jason’s never been one to play with his food, his kills when he’s only feeding are quick enough that the other vampires here are giving him looks from the sides of their eyes, but Jason doesn’t care.

You want him to torture a human, he can do it easily. You want him to cause utter carnage and destruction of property? Jason is your man. But playing with his food has never appealed. Dick’s better at that, as evidenced by his presence among the crowd. A young woman who’s fallen backwards and is trying to scurry away from the demons eating her village bumps into Jason’s knees and looks up terrified. Jason smiles widely, showing all his teeth and savages her neck before she can do more than inhale. Again he drops the body at his feet when he’s done.

By the time Dick comes over, in the company of an older man, hair styled like Jason used to have before Dick encouraged him to grow it out, Jason’s been sitting watching the screams and death for a while. To be honest, he’s grown a little bored of it. Dick sits next to him with a small smile, continuing his conversation with the other man. He doesn’t bother to introduce them.

“To be honest, as enjoyable as it is to have an easy meal once in a while, I prefer the hunt, myself.” The vampire says, and Jason finds himself nodding along in agreement, moving to rest his arm across Dick’s shoulders and wrapping Dick’s long braid around his fist possessively.

“It was nice of Gilles to organise this, though. I mean really, Lucas, who would have thought the Black Death would ever be useful to us instead of taking away our prey.” Dick says, with a polite smile.

“Ah, yes, that is true.” Lucas admits. “I’m surprised you two came though, you’ve developed something of an isolationist reputation.”

“Well, I don’t have too many good memories of my last coven’s indulgences like this.” Dick says, looking distant for a moment. 

“Ah, yes. That would be why you changed your name from Ricard then?” Lucas nods. “I must say, I would have thought you’d go back to your human name.”

“It’s... To be honest, I don’t really remember it. I know what meaning it held, but the exact language is gone...” Dick trails off, a flash of discomfort flowing over his face as it always does when he’s reminded of his time as a human.

“That happens to some of us.” Lucas agrees softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around when you were human or I’d tell you. What was the meaning, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Well, it was night, and bird wing, combined.” Dick admits sheepishly. Jason frowns; Dick must be more blood drunk that he thought if he’s giving away such private information.

“Nightbirdwing. Interesting.” Lucas hums, grabbing a nearby human and biting him deeply. Unlike Jason he throws his victim into the pile in the middle of the room instead of dropping him down to the floor. 

“Well, close to that...” Dick shrugs, looking like he’s on the cusp of remembering but it’s just out of his grasp. Some poor fool trying to escape slips on blood and skids to a stop in front of Dick. He grabs him and pulls his neck down in between himself and Jason offering Jason the other side of his neck. They bite into him at the same time, and Jason studies the way Dick’s eyes slip shut as her drinks. The man’s blood is thin and weak, and it’s not Jason’s favourite of the night, but sharing him with Dick is ...nice. He gets dropped to the floor too when they pull back.

“Nightwing.” Jason says suddenly, and Dick looks up at him with a delighted look on his face.

“Yes, that’s the translation.” Dick says, his eyes widening as Jason takes his bloodied hand and lifts it to his bloodied lips, kissing his knuckles in the courtly fashion. Jason maintains eye contact with Dick until he’s done. When Dick’s hand is back in his lap, the other vampire has gone and Jason grins wolfishly and hauls Dick into his lap.

“You looked good out there.” Jason says, enjoying the way Dick’s tunic rides up to expose the gap of his thighs where his hose stop.

“You like watching me work?” Dick grins, looking up at Jason through his lashes coyly.

“Always. And I like watching you sit in my lap too.” Jason grins back, running his hands over Dick’s back.

“I can tell.” Dick shifts in closer. “I can feel your axe hardening underneath me.”

“I like having what’s mine close. And this is mine.” Jason says, squeezing at Dick’s hips and cheeks. “It fits me perfectly. Takes me so sweetly. Like it was made for me. Because you were.” 

“Jason...” Dick squirms in his lap, leaning his upper arms on Jason’s shoulders.

“And maybe you can find bigger. Or more skilled. But no one will ever make you feel the way I do. No one will ever fit you right like I do. You know that don’t you?” Jason says, watching as Dick’s eyes flutter shut and his legs spread wider over his. His whole body is tense, but trying to mould itself to Jason’s at the same time.

“Yes.” Dick leans forward to press a kiss to Jason’s shoulder and Jason takes the opportunity of relative privacy to say something he should have years ago. 

“Todd. It means Fox.” Jason whispers into Dick’s ear. Watching as Dick’s eyes widen as he realises just what Jason’s told him. Dick leans in and kisses him, pressing his whole body against Jason’s desperately. Dick breaks the kiss and slips off Jason’s lap. 

“Come on, take me home and remind me how we fit. Let me catch your axe.” Dick offers Jason his hand and smiles so happily when Jason takes it. 

 

Gotham, 2018:

Two weeks after Jason enrolled at the school, and several public angry confrontations later, Dick’s trying to tune out Tim and Barbara’s discussion on the latest video game they’ve been playing. It’s not that Dick doesn’t like games; he likes them as much as the next person, but they’re obsessed with a new one-on-one combat fighting game, and those bore Dick to tears. 

He’s pretending to read the assigned book for English Lit. while they’re all having lunch, and he’s dressed in his best eye-catching royal blue frock coat, because Jason had loved him in frock coats; (“All the look and volume of a dress without actually being one! Of course I like it on you, Dickie...”) with jeans and an obscure eighties metal band t-shirt that Dick had picked up at the concert for the band and loved ever since, but really he’s eavesdropping on Jason and the sportsball team one table over. 

Jason seems to have officially joined the team, which surprises Dick in a lot of ways. Jason had never been all that interested in organised sports, or particularly interested in being around a lot of people, so him joining a team is unexpected. 

“It’s cool you’ve joined the team, but I need to talk to you about something...” Kal Durham, Captain of the sportsball team says to Jason, and the other guys around the table quiet down. Dick can see out of the corner of his eye that Conner has a serious look on his face.

“Oh yeah?” Jason says, resting his chin on his hand making his leather jacket gape open, showing off the meatloaf t-shirt. Dick can’t see his legs, but he’s sure they’re encased in tight black denim that he’s not jealous of, no.

“Yeah. It’s about you and that Grayson kid.” Kal continues. “I don’t know what the deal between you is, but uh, we have a total zero tolerance policy on homophobia and bullying in general, so if you’ve got a problem with him, then you need to either get over it, or quit.”

“OK, given that I’m openly queer, and definitely not a homophobe, that’s really not an issue.” Jason snorts, opening his flask. He’d been asked what was in it earlier, which was the thing that had caught Dick’s attention, and he’d claimed it was some disgusting iron-rich protein mix shake that he could barely get down. Even from a table over, Dick can recognise the smell of blood. 

“Oh. So, how come you two always argue then?” Conner Kent, younger brother of Mr Kent, the Phys. Ed. Teacher and sportsball coach, and friend of Tim’s asks.

“Uh. Fuck.” Jason sighs, rubbing his hand through his hair and pulling on that white lock of hair. “No, OK, you know what, _fuck it_. He’s my Ex. We had a bad break up, that’s why we argue.”

“Oh. Oh shit, man, that’s...” Conner says, and Dick vaguely remembers he went through a bad break up two months ago, and Tim had asked for advice from everyone. “What happened?”

“Everything was fine and then literally the next day he ghosted me.” Jason says looking embarrassed. Dick wants to protest, but well, from Jason’s point of view that’s pretty much the truth. Albeit that he’s leaving out the near death experience he’d endured.

“Seriously? But that’s such a shitty thing to do!” Conner says, shaking his head sadly.

“Yes, _thank you_! It is.” Jason groans in relief. “There was no contact whatsoever. And then seeing him here? It was...”

“Sounds seriously rough. But that does explain the animosity and the off the charts sexual tension.” Conner says, looking sympathetically at Jason.

“The off the charts...” Jason blinks at them. Dick can see the confusion on his face, and did Jason really not notice how charged all of their meetings have been? Dick’s been literally holding himself back from throwing himself at Jason’s feet and he hasn’t noticed? Dick’s genuinely offended by that.

“Dude, come on! Even Mal, who is the straightest straight to ever straight, has noticed you wanna bang each other like a screen door in a hurricane.” Conner says, gesturing widely and slapping at Mal’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

“I am, and I really have.” Mal intones, looking as amused as a stoic man mountain like himself can. 

“So, he wants to get back together, and even though you want to bang him like a ‘screen door in a hurricane’, you have too much self respect to do that.” Kal says, tilting his head at Jason and nodding. It’s nice that they all have such a high opinion on Jason, Dick supposes, but damn it, encourage him to look at Dick! Honestly, come on. Help a guy out.

“I ...basically? I guess.” Jason shrugs, glossing over the fact he wants to torture Dick into begging for mercy. Which is ironic because he’s doing that so well right now, except _Jason_ doesn’t mean in a sexual sense.

“I get that you’ve got history, but maybe you could tone the aggression down? For the team, if nothing else.” Kal says seriously. 

“Yeah, dude, we’re here for you, and if you want to get back together with your ex then we’ll either try to talk some sense into you or cheerlead you on, whichever you want.” Conner says, patting Jason on the shoulder like he has any right to touch him. Dick wants to cut his hand off.

“You lot are massive saps. Like, I’m embarrassed to be seen with you.” Jason mutters, but then says a little louder. “Thanks guys, it means a lot.”

“You’re welcome!” Mal says, and Dick chooses that moment to pay attention to his own table of ‘friends’, heart beating painfully.

***

After lunch, homeroom seemed to last forever, but they’ve finally been let out to make their way to Calc 103, Stephanie fretting all the way because she’s forgotten her homework and Tim trying to calm her down. Dick feels disconnected more than normal as he walks the halls. A hush falls over the crowd, until a loud voice shatters the silence.

“Fuck the hell right off. If I catch you trying that again, I’m gonna rip your balls off and give them to her to wear as earrings! You got that, you piece of shit?” Jason yells at a red faced humiliated guy in a particularly unflattering shade of orange, one arm held out to shield a crying girl from the boy. Jason has the same look on his face that he usually wears right before he rips someone’s trachea out. Aggressive and unstoppable, and oh-so strong.

“It’s none of your business, man!” The guy tries again and Dick has to wonder how stupid he is. Jason clearly has the power and will to do as he promises; he’s intimidating several people in the crowd who aren’t even the focus of his wrath. “This is between my girl and me!”

“She isn’t your girl anymore, douchebag. That’s what she’s saying. Now fuck off, before you get even more dickless that you already are.” Jason’s in full protective aggression mode and it hits Dick in the emotions deeper than Dick could even be ready for. Dick wants that attention focused on himself so desperately. And it hurts that Jason utterly refuses to give it to him the way Dick needs it.

Dick doesn’t hear anymore, the blood rushing in his ears and the flow south to his cock is too much. He hurries off to the nearest restroom, barely managing to get there with the sudden and intense erection he’s sporting. He slams through the stall door, leaning back against it and slapping his left hand over his mouth hard to muffle the groan bubbling up out of his chest. His right hand is busy unzipping his fly, shoving his boxer briefs out of the way to let his cock spring free. He wraps his hand around his cock, and seconds later, with only enough time to imagine Jason telling him what a pervert he is and before he’s even stroked once, Dick’s coming harder and more intensely than he has since he lost Jason.

His eyes close tight, tears leaking out, whining loudly as he slips down onto his knees, the intensity of the pleasure overwhelming him. It’s too much, far too much. When he comes down enough from the high, his knees are digging into the concrete floor, his jaw hurts from how hard he was squeezing to muffle his noises and he’s more exhausted than he has any right to be.

He cleans up slowly with the paper in the stall, wiping his blue lipstick from his palm, and scooping up his cum from the floor of the stall, to be flushed down the pan. He staggers out of the stall to the sinks, washing his hands and then looking at himself in the mirror. His blue eyeliner is smudged from his tears, and his lipstick is smeared across his cheek. There are bright red spots on his jaw from his fingertips, and Dick’s pretty sure they’re going to turn into unexplainable bruises pretty soon. He looks as tired as he feels. He lets his gaze drop to his immaculate blue nail polish, and then forces himself to look up again. He looks tired and old and as heartbroken as he feels.

The last thing he wants to do right now is walk into Calc 103 late, looking like this. He could pull on a smile and be the performer he’s been for centuries, and walk into the class with a silly excuse and a laugh. But he doesn’t care about the class. Dick’s over a thousand; one high school math course is nothing to him. What he wants to do is go home, eat pizza and curl up in a ball. Despite appearances, he’s an adult. So he does what he wants. He goes home.

Walking off the campus is liberating, and Dick feels the invisible weight that had been resting on his shoulders lighten. He rings for a pizza delivery as he walks home, enjoying the post-lunch quiet of the streets. When he gets home, he has only enough time to take off his frock coat, toe off his shoes and grab the frozen slushy mix of alcoholic pina colada from the freezer and pour the entire bag into a pint glass before the door bell goes off. 

Dick pays for his pizza and grabs his pina colada, dropping onto the couch and switching on the tv to a random telenova that he’s never seen before. Dick looses himself in Rosita’s life, as she tries to work out if Luis or Carlos is her baby daddy. Since Rosita and Luis are clearly made for each other, obviously Carlos is going to be the father. Dick downs two slices of his pizza while realising this and takes a huge drag of his drink.

He wraps himself up in a blanket with his pizza and pina colada and Rosita’s terrible life choices and tries not to cry.

 

Seville, 1460:

Jason slashes through a priest with enthusiasm, his axe slicing through the fat man’s spine like an oar through water. It was worth taking the extra time to sharpen them before coming out tonight. He grabs another priest, no, wait, this one is wearing red, which means he’s more important than the man he’s just killed. The man in red stammers out pleas and begs for mercy, promising any amount of money if Jason lets him go. The man is a fool, if Jason wanted the money he would take it. He rips that man’s throat out; revelling in the spray of blood to the face he receives and looks around for Dick. He wipes his hand on his previously white, but now sodden with blood, tunic, and wipes his axe on his dark grey trousers that he’s missed wearing so badly. Jason really hates hose; they’re too tight for his tastes. He spots Dick outside the abbey, watching the flames lick up the stone walls of the convent.

Jason had set fire to it a while ago, but the flames have only reached the wooden roof now. As he walks outside, Jason can hear the nuns scream and beat at the thick wooden doors and push their hands out of the narrow windows for salvation that isn’t coming. Jason had been very thorough in blocking every single one of the exits. He finds it ironic, the priests and church often extol the virtues for the soul of being purified in fire, and yet when it’s their turn they scream for mercy. Jason isn’t merciful.

As Jason makes his way over to Dick, sitting on a patch of grass, he realises that his boots have filled with blood, turning them from a grey to a dark red. He folds himself down onto the grass and tugs his boots off; cursing quietly as he remembers he’d laced them right up to his calves. The baldrick that holds both his axes pulls as he shifts forward to free his feet.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dick murmurs, eyes glued to the way the night sky is turning orange from the fire.

“Makes me want to tear my tunic off and dance around.” Jason grins, leaning back on his hands now that he can wipe his feet on the grass. “The smell of blood and cooking flesh on the breeze is a nice touch.”

“I was just thinking the screams and crackling of wooden beams on fire were good music to dance to!” Dick laughs, long braided hair falling off his shoulder as he shakes. “It’s warm enough now to take off my doublet.” Dick slides his blood splattered blue doublet from his shoulders, leaving him in his white shirt and black hose, and ridiculously pointed shoes.

“I wonder if this is what Ragnarok is like?” Jason muses out loud, gaining him a curious look from Dick.

“You’ve mentioned that before... the end of the world, right?” Dick says, tilting his head in Jason’s direction, staring at him and drinking in every inch of his face. It gives Jason a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach that has nothing to do with the heat of the raging fires or even sex for once.

“When the wolves Sköll and Hati, sons of Fenris-ulfr, eat the sun and the moon, heralding the end of the world. Yes.” Jason grins, mimicking Hati eating the moon with his hand, lifting it up to the sky and pretending to close it around the moon.

“Leaving the world in eternal night sounds lovely. Think of all we could get up to!” Dick giggles, and damn if it’s not the most adorable sound Jason’s ever heard. 

“I’d do it for you.” Jason says, staring at the way the flames are reflected in Dick’s eyes. “I’d eat the sun and cause Ragnarok for you. I’d do anything for you.”

“For me?” Dick says coyly, biting at his lip and fluttering his eyelashes like the maidens do to him when he walks by.

“Of course for you. It’d be a good wedding present. Nothing says love like an apocalypse.” Jason means every word. 

“Oh Jason.” Dick looks at him, eyes full of emotion. “Would you really?”

“Just say when, Dickie. Just say when.” Jason grins, remembering the loot of strings of pearls and gold in his pockets and taking it out to shove towards Dick. 

“Until then, this’ll have to do. And this pretty shinys will be a nice souvenir.”

“Those are both very pretty and shiny. I love them. I love you.” Dick wraps them around his neck and shows them off to Jason proudly. He leans over and kisses Jason sweetly, moaning quietly in counterpoint to the rising wails of the convent.

The nuns continue to scream as they kiss under the orange sky and silver moon.


	5. To be close to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotham, Transylvania and London

Gotham, 2018:

Jason grabs Dick’s shoulders, forcing him back and up against the lockers in the hallway. Dick bites his lip trying not to show exactly how much Jason’s forcefulness is getting to him. He hadn’t actually meant to bump into Jason, but the hallway was crowded a moment ago, despite how deserted it seems now.

“What the fuck, Grayson?” Jason snarls, stepping in closer than he really needs to. _Fuck_ , he smells good.

“It was an accident, I swear.” Dick says, looking up at Jason and wishing he’d lean in and kiss him.

“You seriously need to work on your lying skills, _Dick_.” Jason moves his hands to either side of Dick’s head, and he finally takes the opportunity to get a good look at those tattoos on his hands. There’s a wolf head on each hand, the bodies of the wolves disappearing up under the sleeves of Jason’s leather jacket. Dick wonders if the wolf on the left reaches up to the elbow to meet with Jason’s original Fenris-ulfr tattoo.

“I’m guessing this is Sköll...” Dick says, lifting his left hand to skim the back of Jason’s right hand. “So this must be Hati, right?”

Jason’s eyebrows rise in surprise; letting Dick touch him without complaint. He nods, and Dick stares into his eyes, perhaps longer than he should do because he hears a student down the hall hiss to her friend about them.

“Em, Em, Emma! Look!” The short blonde says, waving distractedly at her friend. 

“What, Elinor?” Emma says, pulling her head out of her locker. “Woah, I can’t believe the new football transfer is finally about to make a move on the hot but terrible thrift dressing playboy! How long do you think it’ll take them to bang?”

“Uh... three weeks? No, no, wait. Three days. Definitely three days.” Elinor says, staring at Jason’s shoulders with wide eyes.

“You know what? I bet it doesn’t take that long. Slice of pizza as a wager?” Emma grins, leaning back on her locker.

“Hell, yes!” Elinor holds out her hand for a fist bump, which she gets back near instantly.

“Ladies! You know we can hear you, right?” Dick calls out to them, only now noticing the rather adorable shade of red that Jason’s turning.

“Ummm, oops? Get some, Grayson!” Emma calls back to them encouragingly, waving as Elinor drags her away looking somewhat flustered.

“I _fucking hate_ high school.” Jason mutters, letting Dick go and running away as fast as he can without calling attention to his supernatural nature.

“Damn it.” Dick sighs, watching him turn the corner of the hallway.

 

Somewhere in Northern Transylvania, 1520:

“Somehow this seems less like a friendly get together and more of a kill your enemies under one roof gathering to me.” Jason mutters as he helps Dick down from the carriage.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Jason. I’m sure Vlad Țepeș is a better host than that.” Dick says, lightly smacking him on the shoulder.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think a forest of the impaled says otherwise.” A familiar voice says, coming up behind them.

“Lucas! I didn’t know you were coming to this?” Dick says, giving him a fond smile.

“Really, Nightwing, didn’t you read the invitation? We’re only allowed our work names tonight.” M snorts. He clearly doesn’t think much of the rule, and Jason wonders if that extends to their host too.

“Ah, quite right, Midnighter, quite right.” Dick says, laughing. “Will you come in with us?”

“If it’s alright with your Viking there?” M says with a vicious grin. Jason rolls his eyes and gives a little mocking bow gesturing for M to go ahead of them.

“I heard you put on quite a show in Paris last year?” Jason says instead of a proper greeting. They’ve bumped into Lucas many times over the years, and Jason’s long past any feelings of jealousy now. 

“It’s a shame you missed it. I think you would have enjoyed it.” M says, walking past Jason and knocking him on the shoulder companionably.

“Maybe next time, then.” Jason grins back, and the three of them head towards the door into the country manor that Dracula is using to host this event, invitations in hand. They’re stopped at the door by freshly turned vampires, obviously made purely to serve as guards at this event. One of them has a list of names and is checking each new guest against the list. They check Lucas’ name of Midnighter against the list and he’s waved in, stopping a few feet inside to wait for Dick and Jason. Similarly, Dick’s Nightwing is allowed in. Jason when he follows Dick is stopped short by the fledglings.

“You’re not allowed in without a name, sir.” One of them says, actually sounding apologetic.

“Ah, no. He’s with me. It’s fine.” Dick says, smiling charmingly at the young man with the list. 

“I realise that, sir, but Viovode Țepeș was quite clear, only persons with named invitations are allowed in.” The same fledgling says, looking flustered by Dick’s attention on him.

“Well, look for the Viking then.” Dick says, smile turning sharp and eyes glittering with irritation. Jason’s getting impatient too. It’s bad enough he’s being dragged to this ... _get together_ , but now he’s being held up?

“I’m very sorry, sir. No one by that name is on the list.” The young fledgling actually looks terrified, and Jason huffs in frustration as Dick gets angry.

“Check. Again.” Dick says bitingly. “ _He’s_ the one who burnt down that convent in Seville. Are you telling me you’ve never heard of _him_?”

“Di-... Nightwing. It’s fine. I’ll just wait for you in the garden. If I’m not wanted here, I don’t want to be here. Just show your pretty face so not to be rude and then leave?” Jason calls out.

“No, this is unacceptable.” Dick snarls, gearing up to really let rip. “I won’t let this pass.”

“It’s fine. Really.” Jason sighs. “I’ll wait over by the fountain. Unless I’m not _allowed_ to?” That he directs to the scared young fledgling in front of him. 

“No, no, that’s fine. Please do, sir.” The man says nervously gesturing towards the large circular stone fountain that dominates the drive up to the manor.

“I’ll be having words with our host, _I assure you_.” Dick manages to turn the word host into an insult with disdain dripping from his tone.

“I’ll keep an eye on him for you.” Midnighter says to Jason, with an eyeroll.

“It’s not him I’m worried about. He can take care of himself.” Jason snorts, turning away to walk over to the fountain a short distance away. “But thanks, M.” 

***

Jason’s been sitting in the large formal gardens by the fountain for at least an hour now, wondering when Dick’s going to come out and they can head out for a quick bite to eat before going home. So it’s something of a surprise when he sees Midnighter walking towards him instead.

“Hell of a party in there.” M says by way of a hello. Jason nods, the screams and laughter are carrying on the warm night breeze from the manor house to the fountain and beyond. “All the big names invited. Seems like he wants only the famous here.”

“Thanks for that.” Jason says dryly. A few centuries ago he’d have swung at M for the insult. He must be mellowing in his old age.

“It doesn’t bother you that Nightwing’s more famous than you?” M asks blandly, but he can’t keep the genuine interest out of his eyes. “I know how you Vikings like your fame. Something to do with the afterlife, isn’t it?”

“Fame helps you to get into Valhalla, yes.” Jason says, amused that M knows anything about it. “And no. I’m happy for Dick. It just rankles that he not only didn’t invite me, but doesn’t know who I am.”

“He’s a fool.” M shrugs. “You’re a legend to those of us who last. Us old ones, he invited most of us. They’re inside enjoying watching the festivities.”

“And yet, you’re out here.” Jason points out, staring up at the stars in the cloudless night sky.

“I wasn’t interested in his offer.” M shrugs, sitting down on the side of the fountain, barely out of arm’s reach from Jason. 

“Oh? The mysterious offer that this whole party is meant to explain. What was it, anyway?” Jason says, not really caring. He doesn’t think Dick would enter into an agreement with anyone who slighted Jason so badly and publically. At least he hopes not.

“He wants us to form a coven. An elite, invitation only coven that could rule the entire vampiric world.” Midnighter snorts dismissively. “With him in charge, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Jason rolls his eyes. It’s always the newly turned that think taking control of such as disparate and nomadic species as vampires is possible. They soon learn that if you survive long enough, you no longer want to serve others.

“I’m not going to take orders from a snot nosed brat not even in his triple digits.” M says, trailing his hand through the water and looking up at Jason.

“No one in their right mind would. I fucking wouldn’t.” Jason agrees. “So why is Dick still inside?”

“Ah, I’m afraid he drank from one of the poor dears that took a sedative before being fed on.” M shakes his head in disbelief. “He’ll be fine; he just needs a few minutes for it to wear off. Honestly, the man can’t feed us properly on his first engagement, but he thinks he can lead a coven? I’ll be avoiding him in the future.”

“As soon as Dickie gets outside, we’ll be doing the same.” Jason says, and they two of them lapse into silence. It’s actually quite relaxing being around someone who’s so similar to him, Jason thinks. They sit there, staring at the stars until Dick staggers out of the manor a few minutes later, his blue doublet hanging open in a way that Dick would never allow to happen in public if he weren’t drugged, hair messily half pulled out of its long braid, and his blue hose stained with blood.

***

Two days later and Jason is coming back to their lodgings when a carriage draws up behind him and a fledgling vampire jumps out and tries to grab him. Jason rolls his eyes and tears out his heart with one swift movement. He’s about to move on, when he hears steps behind him. Jason turns back around to see none other than Vlad Țepeș standing there, resplendent in furs and looking down his nose at Jason. Which is quite a feat, given that Jason has a good head of height on him.

“Is Nightwing in?” Țepeș says, sniffing dismissively.

“No idea.” Jason turns away again, heading towards the front door.

“You should let him go. You’re holding him back. Without you dragging down, Nightwing could be a legend. His name could echo down the centuries.” Țepeș says to Jason’s unimpressed back. “If he joined my coven he would become a king, a god, whatever he wants.”

“You’re even less intelligent than I heard if you think he can’t do all that on his own. He doesn’t need you.” Jason snarls, not turning around and opening his door. “Now fuck the hell off.”

“He doesn’t need you either. Stop holding him back. He’ll abandon you eventually. You-” Whatever else Țepeș was going to say gets cut off by Jason firmly closing the door behind him. He walks up the stairs to their rooms, trying to get the words ‘He doesn’t need you. You’re holding him back. He’ll abandon you eventually.’ out of his head. Dick’s sitting by the window when he opens the door to their rooms. Jason doesn’t say anything but Dick runs over to him anyway, his face is the picture of misery and Jason wishes he’d ripped Țepeș’ fucking heart out right there.

“I heard everything.” Dick snarls, wrapping his arms around Jason’s shoulders tightly. “I don’t know why you didn’t kill him. I should have done it last night. How dare he speak to you like that! No one speaks to you like that. No one! You’re not holding me back. If anything I’m doing that to _you_. I won’t abandon you. Don’t you dare let me go, Jason. Don’t you dare.”

“I won’t. I won’t, Dickie. You’re my coven. My everything. My wife. ” Jason says, wrapping his arms around Dick. He won’t let him go for anything. But those words of Dracula’s aren’t so easy to get out of his head.

 

Gotham, 2018:

When Dick and the others walk into the library, Jason’s there, leaning over the counter and engaging Alfred in a rather spirited conversation. Dick doesn’t think he’s ever seen Alfred be so enthusiastic about something. 

“Ah, there they all are.” Alfred says, nodding towards them.

“Right.” Jason sighs, the small smile on his face slipping off as he turns to look at Steph’s squad. “OK, so... I need your help, Slayer.”

“Uh, what?” Steph says, trying not to panic by playing dumb. Dick watches Jason roll his eyes and wishes that Jason’s obvious disdain didn’t warm the pit of his stomach.

“It’s alright, Stephanie. Mr Todd here is from a watcher family.” Alfred says, nodding. “He’s studied under Peter Reynard, himself.”

“Uh, who?” Steph says, this time not playing dumb. Dick decides to help her out.

“He’s a vampire that’s been working with the watcher’s since world war two, or thereabouts.” Dick says. He’s not a fan of the man. He’s regarded as something of a traitor by the vampire community.

“Right, well, my cred aside, I need your help. It’s the ...football team.” Jason says, barely managing to keep the sneer of his face as he says ‘football’.

“What’s up with the sportsball team?” Steph asks, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Sportsball... Huh, I like that.” Jason lets a little smile grow on his face. “Uh, anyway, the _sportsball_ team is in danger. I think the new assistant coach is strigoi or something? Anyway, I need someone with some authority here to, uh, take him out?” 

“I TOLD YOU. I said there was something going on with the sportsball team, and I WAS RIGHT.” Tim yells out, pumping his fists towards the sky. It takes Tim a few seconds to work out what he’s said, and then his face falls. “Damn it!” 

Dick bites back his snicker, but not soon enough to stop Tim from giving him a dirty look.

“Well. I guess I’m the authority, right?” Steph says, shrugging. “We might as well check it out. And I want you all to know I’m trying real hard not to make a South Park joke right now.”

“Oh what, so Mr. Tall, British and Handsome says there’s a problem and we drop everything to check it out, but I say there’s a problem for weeks and I get blown off?” Tim complains, throwing his arm out towards Jason in disgust.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Steph shrugs, completely unrepentant.

“Yup!” Dick grins, holding his fist out for Steph to fistbump; she does with a grin.

“Sounds about right.” Alfred nods, making Jason snort quietly in amusement.

“Auuugh.” Tim moans.

***

“What the hell, dude?” Conner asks as he sees Dick and Stephanie walk into the locker room behind Jason.

“We agreed to get help. This is help.” Jason says, gesturing at them both. Dick preens at the knowledge that Jason considers him help.

“You didn’t say anything about girls in the locker room, Todd!” Duke Thomas, freshman member of the sportsball team says with some surprise and a lot of exasperation.

“Relax. You haven’t got anything they haven’t seen before, Thomas. Unless you have in which case show _everyone_...” Jason grins at him wolfishly and Duke snorts despite himself.

“Very funny.” Duke says, slightly muffled as he pulls on a shirt.

“Uh, Todd, are you sure they can help? I mean, no offence, Brown, but you’re our age.” Kal says, frowning and looking unsure. Dick would be offended, but that’s a look he sees on Kal’s face nearly every day in the halls. 

“Relax, Kal. Brown knows what she’s doing.” Jason says, and it’s not nearly as reassuring as Jason obviously thinks it is, and Dick goes on patrol with Steph regularly. He knows how capable she is.

“I guess, if you say so...” Kal says, clearly wanting this whole situation to be over.

“So what exactly is happening? Jason was a little light on the details.” Stephanie asks the room at large to several unsurprised looks and a couple of shrugs.

“It’s... It’s weird. I mean, weird even for Gotham, weird.” Mal starts, looking embarrassed and hesitant.

“Oookay?” Steph says encouragingly.

“Well. We think the assistant coach is maybe a vampire?” Conner blurts out, gesturing widely.

“Vampires don’t walk in the sun, dude. We’ve been over this. So. Many. Times.” Mal says groaning and shoving at Conner’s shoulder.

“How else do you explain everyone feeling so weak and tired after they see him?” Conner shoves back with a grin.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t like... supernatural. I just said he wasn’t a vampire!” Mal says exasperated.

“GUYS, FOCUS.” Kal yells, stopping the other two from their horseplay.

“Right, so we wanted help to prove it. Coach Kent doesn’t believe Conner.” Mal says, looking sheepish.

“He doesn’t believe in the weird stuff. I mean, we live on a literal Hellmouth, but OK, whatever, Clark.” Conner mutters to no one in particular.

“Hey, are you guys ready yet?” Zatanna, the head cheerleader, calls out as she and a couple of other cheerleaders walk into the locker room without knocking.

“OH MY GOD WOMAN, DON’T WALK IN WITHOUT KNOCKING, I AM IN A TOWEL HERE.” Mal yells, grabbing at an extra towel to cover his waist despite the fact he’s already in sweatpants.

“Relax, Mal, I’ve seen it before.” Karen says, grinning and knocking shoulders with Raquel who looks up from her phone and shakes her head with a smile on her face.

“Karen!” Mal sounds absolutely scandalised, looking around the locker room panicked. Jason walks up to Karen and holds up his fist. Karen grins widely and knocks her fist against him.

“Dude!” Mal says, looking more scandalised. Jason holds up his fist to Mal who glares at it for a moment before sighing and bumping his fist against Jason’s.

It’s at that moment the assistant coach walks into the room with a kid under his arm, clearly not expecting anyone to still be there. He drops the boy’s body and all hell breaks loose. He goes for Stephanie at first and while she’s punching and kicking at him, Dick checks the boy. He doesn’t find a heartbeat, and when he flips him over, his skin is gray and he’s obviously gone. Dick looks up to Jason and sees the rage come over him like a veil. 

He launches himself at the assistant coach, punching him hard and down to the ground, letting Stephanie get to her feet and breath hard. “He’s a tough one.” Is all she says. Dick looks over to Jason and sees his fangs drop down and his eyes glow red. He doesn’t think, he just reacts, grabbing Jason’s fist when it pulls back to deliver another punch. He pulls him back and away. Jason looks like he wants to murder Dick too for stopping him.

“Your eyes!” Dick hisses. Jason leans back against a row of lockers, closing his eyes and taking a calming deep breath.

“Kal, get the axe from my locker, please.” Jason says, and while his voice is a little more growly than usual, and Dick’s taking it in, appreciating it, but at least Jason doesn’t sound lost to rage anymore.

“Why do you have an axe in your locker?” Duke asks plaintively, looking like he wants to be anywhere else right now.

“Why wouldn’t you have an axe in your locker?” Raquel says to him, with a pitying look on her face.

“This is Gotham. Not having an axe in your locker is just asking for trouble.” Zatanna points out, flipping her long hair over her shoulder and dodging a ball being thrown her way by the assistant coach.

“Give it to Brown.” Jason says, voice firm and commanding and Dick’s stomach does a pleasant flip.

“Aww yis! This is perfect, thanks, Todd!” Steph beams widely at him, catching the axe after Kal throws it to her. Dick has to bite back a grin at the thought. Not that he wouldn’t mind catching Jason’s axe himself right now.

Stephanie comes around the strigoi, standing over his head as he hisses at her. Jason steps forward and puts one booted foot on the strigoi’s chest, pinning it down better than a normal teenage boy actually could. Stephanie hefts the axe, and Dick recognises it as one of Jason’s old Viking style axes. He doubts it’s the original one that killed their sires, though. Stephanie raises the axe high and brings it down through the strigoi’s neck, severing its head. Unlike vampires, strigoi don’t turn to dust, so once the thing is dead, there’s a rotting bleeding corpse in the middle of the sportsball team locker room.

“SPORTSBALL SCORE!” Steph yells, lifting the axe in victory.

“Sportsball score!” Dick yells after her, turning around to the team who have a mix of confusion, disgust and amusement on their collective faces.

“What the hell is sportsball?” Conner asks, trying not to look at their dead assistant coach. 

 

London, 1602:

“Do we have to go?” Jason sighs, fastening his Venetian hose closed and pulling on a plain black jerkin over his red doublet. He’s pretty sure one of his stockings is about to fall down and it tickles. He hates stockings almost as much as hose. He longs for his trousers. “I don’t see the point.”

“Yes! M was nice enough to give us tickets to the box seats.” Dick says, threading some gold ribbons through his long hair. Jason would much rather he leave it down and let them stay in bed. “We’re not passing this up. Besides, you’ll enjoy yourself once we get there.”

“I know I’ll enjoy myself if we stay in.” Jason huffs. He has to admit that Dick looks lovely tonight. His black gown contrasts well with his blue patterned stomacher and petticoat, the laced up bodice pulling his waist in tight, and under all of his petticoats, a French roll puffs out his skirts so that his lack of hips isn’t noticeable. Dick turns and gives him a look. Jason sighs again. Dick obviously really wants to go.

“Help me with my ruff will you?” Dick says, walking over and handing Jason the stiff lace. Jason wordlessly fastens it to the back of Dick gown. Dick turns around and rests his arms on Jason’s shoulders, giving Jason the best view of his chest. “Thanks. Look, if you don’t complain too much tonight, I’ll make it worth your while. You can take me to that one football match that happens at night, if you want. And stop staring at my tits.”

“Deal. And I can’t help it. They’re right there. Begging to be looked at. And touched. And kissed. And petted until you’re desperate for it...” Jason says, letting his voice drop into a growl. Dick’s chest heaves against his stomacher, and Jason can’t stop thinking about giving those pert pectoral muscles a few bloody and bruising love bites. He can’t stop thinking about pulling the bodice of Dick’s gown open until he has full access to those muscles and can play with them to his heart’s content and Dick’s utter ruin.

“A valiant attempt at convincing me to stay in, my husband. But one doomed to failure. Although I admit, I’m tempted. Maybe once we get home?” Dick grins, tugging at Jason’s newly grown full beard. It’s finally long enough to Dick to comfortably hook his fingers into the strands without touching Jason’s chin. Jason huffs, not as frustrated as he’s pretending he is, and leans down to drop a quick kiss onto Dick’s smiling mouth.

“Fine then. But before we go, I have something to give you.” Jason swats at Dick’s arse and turns away to the pouch he’d _stealthily acquired_ last night. “I saw these and thought of you. It’s Venetian glass.”

“Jason! They’re lovely. And they bring back such nice memories too. Thank you.” Dick beams at him, unwrapping the blue glass that matches his petticoat perfectly. “They look like sapphires!” Dick takes the string of large rectangular glass beads and ties it around his throat, the one long dangling bead of the centre of the necklace resting perfectly in the swell of his chest. 

“Only the best for _my_ wife.” Jason grins, relieved that Dick likes them. It had definitely been worth breaking into that shop to steal the thing, just for the look on Dick’s face.

***

The hustle and bustle of the Globe theatre would be off putting if Jason didn’t regularly partake in bloodbaths and mass murder. As it is, it’s just annoying. Jason’s not really into the theatre, but if sitting in a crowded place for a couple of hours makes Dick happy, then he’ll do it with minimal complaining. Jason’s sitting back in his chair, away from the box wall unlike Dick who’s crowded up to it. The play starts, and to be honest Jason’s not that interested. Not until Viola comes onto the stage.

“Dick. Dick. Dickie...” Jason hisses, poking at Dick’s arm until he looks over at him.

“What? I’m trying to watch this.” Dick hisses back, not looking away from the stage as he replies, irritation obvious. 

“That’s a boy in a dress, pretending to be a woman.” Jason says and Dick turns his head to stare at him flatly.

“Yes, Jason. Women aren’t allowed on the stage.” Dick has the long suffering tone of exasperation that Jason usually has when Dick’s trying a flight of fancy that Jason has to discourage him from.

“So _this_ is why being an actor is disreputable?” Jason says, grinning at his new found knowledge.

“Yes, Jason.” Dick sighs, voice coming out bland, like a man that’s already imparted some piece of information to someone who has asked the same question several times already.

“Well, no wonder you like this so much.” Jason snorts, already picturing Dick as the leading ‘lady’ of a troupe of actors doing raunchy comedies. Maybe not, Jason hates it when other people leer at Dick. Maybe the Commedia Dell’Arte is looking for a new Colombine instead?

“Shush, I’m trying to watch this!” Dick hisses and Jason does him a favour and shuts up long enough to actually start paying attention to the happenings on stage.

Jason gets swept up in the wit and blatant stupidity of half of the cast, drawn into Viola’s attempt to make life for herself as Cesario, the plot to humiliate Malvolio, and Antonio’s love for Sebastian. He can’t help but be amused by the fact that it’s boys pretending to be women and in one case a boy pretending to be a woman pretending to be a man. He gets more and more drawn in, to the point that he’s leaning on the box wall himself, hanging on every word.

“Jason. Jason. Jason!” Dick whispers into his ear, pressing up against his body in a way he usually finds so enticing and unignorable, but right now is simply comfortable. Jason wraps his arm around Dick’s waist, pulling him in close. 

“Shush, _I’m_ trying to watch this!” Jason says, ignoring Dick laughing at him with the ease of long practice.

“I told you you’d enjoy yourself.” Dick smirks, resting his head on Jason’s shoulder. Dick returns his attention to the stage, fingers absently playing with his new necklace, and sometimes barely brushing the skin of his neck. 

By the time the play draws to a close, Jason’s feeling fond of both Antonio and Orsino, seeing parts of himself in both of them.

“Pursue him and entreat him to a peace: he hath not told us of the captain yet: when that is known and golden time convents, a solemn combination shall be made of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister, we will not part from hence. Cesario, come; for so you shall be, while you are a man; but when in other habits you are seen, Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen.” Orsino closes the play with a final monologue, and Dick gives Jason a deeply amused look. 

Jason’s pretty sure that he’s going to repeating that sentiment quite often for a while. That is if Dick doesn’t do it first. There’s no way that Dick won’t take every opportunity to refer to himself as that. He can hear it now, Dick faking a pout and batting his big blue eyes when he sees something pretty he wants Jason to get him, and asking if he’s not Jason’s fancy’s queen?

And Jason will, without fail but quite a bit of grumbling, give in to that pout, because it’s true. Dick is his coven, his everything, his _wife_. His queen, his _Frue_.


	6. To be part of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotham, London and Vienna.
> 
> ~This means nothing to me. This means nothing to me. Oh Vienna~

Gotham, 2018:

After the mess that was saving the sportsball team, Mr Wayne has called them all into his office. They’ve gone in one by one, and Dick’s not looking forward to his turn. Everyone else has been called in and left already, except for Jason who’s in there right now, and Dick himself. Even Mr Wayne’s assistant has gone. Which means that Dick’s free to eavesdrop on Wayne’s conversation with Jason. Dick shoves his ear right up to the door, once again cursing his weak human hearing and missing his improved vampire hearing.

“So, you called in the Slayer for support, and proceeded to take out the Strigoi yourselves. You didn’t think to inform the faculty?” Mr Wayne says, in that bland way of his.

“Mr Pennyworth knew.” Jason says, and Dick wonders if he looks as pissed off as his voice suggests.

“And you judged that enough.” Mr Wayne sounds more judgemental now.

“I wasn’t in charge.” Jason says dismissively.

“But you thought you had enough experience to deal with it.” Mr Wayne says slightly impatiently.

“Look man, I’ve been with the Watchers for years. Call them if you want. Tell them Jason Todd says hi, and that Peter Reynard doesn’t need to worry.” Jason sounds amused. Peter Reynard, Jason knows that traitor? And he’s been with the watchers for years? Wait. Something doesn’t add up. Or rather it does. Too well. Reynard the Fox. Todd the Fox. Jason is Peter Reynard. Dick breathes out hard in shock.

“You know I think I will.” Mr Wayne says, obviously thinking he’s calling Jason’s bluff.

“Go ahead.” Jason doesn’t sound the least bit concerned.

There’s the muffled sound of Wayne making a telephone call. He starts off smug and confident, only for it to turn muted and surprised at whatever the person on the other end of the line says. He hangs up, sounding almost sheepish. 

“Well. That was... enlightening.” Mr Wayne says eventually.

“Oh really?” It’s Jason’s turn to sound smug now. And if that doesn’t confirm that Jason’s Peter Reynard nothing will. So Dick spent his time grieving, and Jason hated him enough to work with the Watchers? Dick should be horrified, but honestly, he just feels flattered.

“Why are you really here, Mr. Todd?” Mr Wayne asks.

“I was told you found a way to pay a djinni for a wish. I want to know what the price was.” Jason sounds casual, but Dick knows him well enough, even after all this time to know he’s not.

“I see. Why do you want a wish?” Mr Wayne says.

“I’ve got my reasons.” Jason responds quietly.

“Hrrn. Very well, I’ll tell you what I paid, and in return you support the Slayer until she graduates.” Mr Wayne offers, and Dick wishes he could see their faces.

“Huh. You got yourself a deal, old man.” Jason says, and there’s the sound of two hands meeting in a handshake and Dick pulls back from the door. He wonders what Jason wants a wish for too. Does he still want to be human again? Or is it more malicious and something Dick needs to worry about? There’s no telling with Jason.

 

London, 1816:

Their carriage rattles along the cobbled streets, swaying as it bumps over the potholes and dips in the road. Dick sighs heavily again and Jason looks over to him. He’s staring at the curtains blocking out the last of the dying evening light. The rueful look on his face reminds Jason of those paintings of the consumptive maiden, pining away for her lover who’ll never return home from the war.

“What’s got you so out of sorts then?” Jason breaks the comfortable silence they’d been in for the last twenty minutes.

“Hmm? What? Oh, nothing.” Dick says, entirely unconvincingly, still staring at the curtain. Jason lifts his arm to push his fingers through Dick’s short cropped hair. It’s now just long enough to cover the backs of Jason’s fingers when he does this. Dick looks over at Jason with a hint of grief in his eyes. 

“Are you still upset about that haircut?” Jason closes his eyes for a second as brief flash of memory takes over. Two weeks ago in Amsterdam they’d been caught by hunters. Dick had only escaped from the grasp two of them had on his hair by severing his long braid close to his head. They’d run, not willing to risk any other body parts. Now they’re in London and Dick’s new haircut is, in fact, the height of fashion.

“I... I realise it’s a stupid thing to be sad about. But I am. My head feels too light!” Dick tries for a genial smile, but it wavers and fails.

“I think the short look is quite fetching on you.” Jason says, stroking Dick’s head. “I mean I loved your long hair, it’s true. But I’d rather have you here and with me, than dust with no hair at all.”

“I suppose I’m just annoyed that I don’t have the option of wearing dresses for a while. I miss being your queen.” Dick moves his head into Jason’s petting. It’s true that unless he finds a convincing wig, or hat, then Dick’s going to have to wear men’s clothing exclusively until his hair grows out. Jason finds himself almost wishing that wigs were still in fashion, and then feels appalled he’d even had that thought. He’d hated wigs with a passion that bordered on insane. The 1700’s had not been a good time for him. 

“Oh, Cesario... you are, and always will be, _min Frue_. Short hair doesn’t change that.” Jason says, kissing Dick’s short hair. 

“Cesario. Huh, haven’t heard that nickname in a while.” Dick smiles in fond remembrance. “I want you to throw your axe at me.” Dick swings himself over Jason’s lap, straddling him, and leans forward to kiss him desperately, until they’re both rising to the occasion.

“Well, I know how much you love catching it, Dickie, but really? Here? In the carriage?” Jason says, putting on as much of a scandalised tone as he can manage without laughing. 

“Yes. Here. In the carriage.” Dick says, snorting. As if Jason’s hadn’t spent much of the 1720’s reading out ‘The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders’ to Dick in carriages, purely to get Dick to ride him.

“Tempting. So tempting. But I have another idea.” Jason says, smirking. He drops his hands down to in between their laps, opening their fall-front trousers slowly, pushing aside their underclothes. “Lick your hand and wrap it around the both of us.” 

“Just hands?” Dick pouts, looking up at Jason through his long eyelashes.

“Why not? I know you prefer your arse, especially when you’re feeling... out of sorts. But sometimes the situation calls for something a little less involved.” Jason leers, blowing a kiss directed to the tip of Dick’s cock.

“Are you sure? The motion of this carriage is perfect for me riding you...” Dick wheedles, leaning into Jason to prove his point.

“Yes, now get to work, you lazy thing.” Jason grins, slapping at Dick’s arse roughly making Dick huff; he shucks off his blue velvet tailcoat, letting it drop to the floor and licking his hand thoroughly. He wraps his hand around the both of their cocks, pushing into his hand and against Jason’s cock. Dick’s right; the motion of the carriage adds an extra momentum to their movements and Dick can’t help but smile widely.

They move together, rocking gently and Jason lets his hands drop to Dick’s hips, enjoying the moans it causes. Dick’s worked up fast and faster, dropping his head to rest on Jason’s shoulder as he pants and shudders. Jason spreads his fingers, squeezing deliberately until one finger slips into the crease of Dick’s arse. Dick whines, and Jason presses that finger hard over his hole and Dick bucks hard, body unsure if it wants to press closer or back into Jason’s finger. It doesn’t take much longer for Dick to come messily over his hand. 

Jason follows a few moments later and opens his eyes to the delightful sight that is Dick licking his hand clean of both of their seed. Jason grabs Dick’s cravat, untying it and using that to wipe up the stray drops that flew away from Dick’s hand.

“My cravat! Jason!” Dick frowns at the destruction of his neckwear by using it as a cleaning rag. 

“Don’t fuss, Dickie.” Jason takes the now ruined cravat and wipes at Dick’s hand and waistcoat.

“But my cravat! I can’t go out in public without a cravat!” Dick exclaims, distraught at the thought of being anything less that perfectly dressed where others can see him.

“Calm down.” Jason pulls out a thin box from the seat beside him. “I was going to give this to you later... but you might as well have it now.”

“I don’t want a present. I _need_ a cravat.” Dick pouts, taking the box and opening it anyway.

“Yes, well. You’re welcome.” Jason says, rolling his eyes as Dick folds back the thin muslin and looks in wonder at the box’s contents.

“Jason, it’s beautiful. Is this silk?” Dick takes out the golden silk cravat and runs it over his fingers, wondering at its fineness. As he well should, it cost an extortionate amount. 

“The best available.” Jason tells him. “Hang on; I’ve got you a new cravat pin here too.” Jason fishes out the pin from his pocket. It’s a little tin bird in profile, enamelled black with a blue streak across the chest and up the edge of its wings, with a golden beak and eye. Dick ties on the new cravat and slips the pin in to hold it in place. He beams at Jason, stroking his fingers over the new cravat with satisfaction shining his eyes.

“How do I look?” Dick preens, pulling his tailcoat back on for the full effect.

“Perfect. Blue and gold really are your colours, Dickie.” Jason leans in for a kiss, running his fingers through Dick’s short hair again, enjoying the feel of the short strands slipping through them. 

***

They arrive at the salon of Dorcas Leigh and June Moon fashionably late, due to the fact that Dick had ordered the driver to go around the park as twice to give them extra time to make themselves presentable. Dick actually spent that time cuddled up to Jason and humming in satisfaction, stroking his new cravat with his finger tips, like he was having a religious experience.

They’re hustled into the packed salon by their hosts, Miss Moon, a powerful witch with an otherworldly presence and Miss Leigh, her fellow witch, managing to find seats in the back. A young lady, most recently from Hampshire, is reading an excerpt of the latest chapter of a novel by a new, fashionable but anonymous author. Jason is an ardent follower of the work, greatly enjoying its wit, sarcasm and political commentary. Dick is less enthusiastic, but seeing the joy that it brings Jason, is willing to read and reread whatever parts of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ that they have to hand out loud or again and again so that they can discuss the characters, and speculate on their futures. Jason is most fond of Lizzy, while Dick says he finds more than a few similarities between Jason and Darcy. Jason thinks Dick is simply attracted to them both, and so wants them to be similar.

“If you will thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you."

Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."  
Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change since the period to which he alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The happiness which this reply produced was such as he had probably never felt before, and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do.” Once the young lady finishes reading the chapter, to much applause from her audience, their host stands to thank her.

“Thank you, Miss Austen. That was a most excellent reading of a thrilling chapter, I’m sure we all agree.” Miss Moon, smiles at her and gestures to her servants to serve refreshments. Miss Moon and Miss Leigh make the rounds talking to all the guests, while Jason and Dick find themselves in the company of Miss Austen.

“I wonder if it’s just me, or is our host’s hairstyle changing every time I glance away from her?” Dick says quietly and Jason looks over. Sure enough in the space of time it takes to blink, Miss Leigh’s hairstyle has gone from a plain bun to a braided coif to ringlets to some sort of draping style that Jason can’t name.

“I can assure you sir, it is not just yourself. One can only think of all the time saved on vanity, if we all had that ability. Or at least the discerning nature to pick one and stay with it.” Miss Austen says, sipping merrily at her wine. Jason snorts, thinking of the hours Dick had spent in the past fiddling with his hair.

“Or the nature to not offend a witch in her own house?” Jason says, shaking his head in amusement.

“Sir! That would require both the common sense and tact that is rarer than hen’s teeth in this modern society.” Miss Austen says with a deeply amused glint in her eyes, and the hint of a smile on her lips.

“You are of course, right, Miss Austen. What _was_ I thinking?” Jason takes another sip of his wine. 

“Very little?” Miss Austen says with mirth. Dick chokes on his mouthful of wine, laughing through his wheezes.

“Touché, Miss Austen. I’m afraid I’m more used to scandalous activities than thinking.” Jason replies with a feral grin.

“Torden! If you don’t watch yourself those scandalous activities won’t happen again tonight.” Dick says in a mock scandalised tone.

“Again? Do you see how he plans to wear me out, Miss Austen. For shame, Grayson.” Jason says in a long suffering tone, but grinning widely.

“I daresay he’s plotting to inherit your fortune, Sir, by doing away with you as soon as possible.” Miss Austen says conspiratorially, leaning in to lower her voice.

“Oh no! My cunning plan has been discovered! If you could both do me a great service and keep that knowledge to yourselves, I would be most grateful.” Dick says, giving a little theatrical bow.

“I shall do my best, Sir, but I shall have to tell my diary.” Miss Austen says with an impish grin.

 

Gotham, 2018:

If Dick’s honest, most of the 20th Century was a blur to him. The years after he watched Jason die in a fire at a theatre while holding off vampire hunters were lost in a grief-fuelled depression, and then a haze of blood, alcohol and drugs and meaningless one night stands. What he does remember is the night Jason died in vivid detail; the way the flames had licked up the sides of the Viennese theatre and caused the building to collapse, killing all inside. He remembers the way it had taken six men in the crowd to stop him from running in after Jason. 

He doesn’t remember how he got out of Vienna. The next thing he remembers with any clarity is being locked in the basement of Lucas and his new husband Andrew’s house. It had been to stop him from walking into the sunshine or setting himself on fire. He hadn’t been grateful at the time, but after a year or two, he’d come to realisation that if the afterlife exists for vampires, then dying like that would mean he wouldn’t see Jason again. 

He doesn’t remember his time on the steamer boat taking him to Gotham. That had been the start of losing himself in whatever he could to forget the hole in his heart from Jason’s loss. Without Lucas and Andrew’s support, Dick had turned to partying to keep him going long enough to die a warrior’s death. He knows he travelled, he briefly remembers Rio de Janeiro, Buenos Aires, Santiago, Santa Prisca, Hollywood in the 1920’s, Miami, and Chicago. Sometime around the 1990’s Dick had finally had enough of partying. He’d set up in Gotham, buying Wayne Manor from the family trust and turning it into his personal storehouse, living quietly. Right up to the time that the new Slayer arrived in 2008.

It had taken two years of planning and watching until he knew how skilled Cassandra was. In 2010 he had taken all his plans and used them to fight to the death. But fate had decided that he was going to be the winner of their match, and Dick had been left with a dead Slayer in his arms and a howling rage at once again being denied his chance to see Jason again. He’d lain low in Wayne Manor, licking his metaphorical wounds for the next five years, when Wayne had found him and cursed him.

He wants to tell Jason all of this, but every time he’s faced with him, the words die in his throat. Today is no exception. Jason’s standing next to Alfred uneasily, clearly wanting to be anywhere other than there.

“Mr Wayne has appealed to Mr Todd’s better side and convinced him to help us in our mission.” Alfred says with satisfaction when the entire squad has gathered. Tim looks just as put out as Jason does, Steph is beaming widely and giving Jason a thumbs up, and Barbara is giving Jason a considering but mostly accepting look. Dick has no idea what emotion is showing on his face. He’s not going to ask, either.

***

“Jason, could you stop making the English teacher cry. Please?” Barbara says plaintively as she wheels herself in while Tim and Jason walk into the library for lunch.

“No.” Jason says, dropping into a chair with a dark scowl on his face. Dick and Alfred share a look and then turn as one to look at Barbara. Dick thinks about it for a second.

“Shakespeare or Austen?” Dick says to Barbara, tilting his head waiting for the answer.

“Austen.” Barbara says with a tired sigh. Which says it all, really. Jason can and has waxed lyrical for hours about her work ever since he first read it. Dick used to love listening to him talk about it.

“Ah. What happened?” Dick has a pretty good idea, but well. He’s not actually supposed to know Jason as far as the others are aware.

“They got into an argument over the textbook.” Tim says, taking a huge glug of his energy drink and then shoves his face into his arms to sleep through lunch.

“The man has an English Literature degree from an Ivy League school and he refuses to admit that there’s even a possibility that Austen was being sarcastic during the opening lines of Pride and Prejudice!” Jason snarls, clearly still worked up.

“It’s a matter of opinion, Jason.” Barbara tries to placate him. It doesn’t work.

“Uh... actually...” Dick coughs slightly and Barbara turns to look at him. Dick moves over to stop Tim from slipping off the table in his sleep. The boy’s gone limp, the only thing stopping him from ending up on the floor is the precarious angle he’s resting at.

“What, Dick?” Barbara looks about done, but Dick presses on. Maybe if Jason sees Dick taking his side, he’ll let his guard down a bit more.

“I actually met Austen once. At a reading for Pride and Prejudice, in fact.” Dick says, flicking his gaze over to Jason who doesn’t look up from scowling at the floor. “She was definitely being sarcastic.”

“See! I’m _right_.” Jason exclaims, vilification making him sit up and stop scowling.

“Oh, well. So, you agree with the textbook on it. At least you and I know you’re right. And Tim will once he wakes up. But it’s not like you wrote it.” Barbara says, and like that she’s shut down the conversation in that way of hers.

“Sure.” Jason sighs, sitting back in his chair. Then he mutters something quietly that Barbara doesn’t hear. “I _did_ write the textbook.”

“You wrote the textbook?” Dick asks him in a low tone once Barbara’s wheeled herself over to the counter to ask Alfred about a book.

“What? You thought I spent every last second of the last 128 years doing nothing but planning revenge on you? The ego on you, Dickie.” Jason says trying to keep his tone bitter, but there’s a softness there before that Dick hasn’t heard since Vienna.

“No. No, I’m just impressed.” Dick says softly, and Jason jerks his head up to look at him. Dick can see the surprise in his eyes melt away to a brief longing before they harden again, and Jason’s jaw works in frustration. “Congratulations on being successful.”

“I.” Jason looks away and then back at Dick, searching his face for something, and Dick hates the distance between them now, that he can’t tell what Jason’s looking for. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime, Jason. Anytime.” Dick says, meaning every word.

***

“I’m just saying; I would’ve fucked Elvis Presley if I’d been given the chance. Or Marlon Brando.” Dick says as they walk into the library once school has finished for the day, continuing the conversation from that morning about the hottest celebrities of the past.

“Nobody wants to know that, Goldie.” Jason says, dropping into a chair at the table and slouching down to throw his booted feet up on the table, his leather jacket gaping open to show off his Avenged Sevenfold t-shirt. Dick doesn’t tell Jason he looks like a young Elvis Presley.

“Goldie?” Dick blinks at him. That’s definitely the nicest thing Jason’s called him recently.

“What? You wear gold lipstick about half the time, or a gold scarf or something. That or blue. Have you considered expanding your colour palette? Your look might be getting stale.” Jason sneers, leaning back to stare at the ceiling.

“Lies! Lies and slander! Gold _never_ goes out of style.” Dick declares taking a seat one over from Jason and spinning around in it to emphasise his point. And not just to show off the bright blue lacing on his gold embroidery on black satin corset, paired with skinny jeans.

“It might not go out of style, Dick, but it every now and then it looks out of place.” Barbara says, wheeling herself up to the tables. Dick gives her a betrayed look and she shrugs in that ‘what can you do’ way while she grabs a book of the pile and flips through it. She’s trying to memorise the entire collection. For anyone that doesn’t have an eidetic memory the task would be impossible. Luckily for Barbara, she does.

“You do look a little overdressed sometimes.” Steph says, hopping up to sit on the table and using Jason’s feet as an armrest. He raises an eyebrow at her, but otherwise doesn’t complain. It’s a cute interaction and Dick’s strangely glad that Jason’s taken to Steph so quickly but it still makes his heart squeeze painfully that he can’t get the same reaction from Jason. “Right, Tim?”

“Oh no. No, do _not_ involve me in that one. It can only end in bears.” Tim’s pleading face is comically distressed and Dick whips out his phone to take a quick blackmail snap.

“Bears?” Jason says frowning slightly. “Don’t you mean tears? Preferably Dick’s.” Dick looks at Jason sharply but the look on his face is amused rather than mean, so Dick lets it go.

“No, I mean bears. Big scary bears chasing me down the street. Make them stop please!” Tim says, sitting at the table, promptly face-planting into a book and then snoring loudly.

“You know what? I don’t even want to know.” Jason says to no one in particular.

“Probably for the best, to be honest.” Steph grins at Jason, tapping on his boot with a finger. “But hey, if you ever want to freak Tim out, ask him about his dream where he’s Goldilocks!”

“You realise that I’m going to do that as soon as possible, right? Probably in the middle of a fight?” Jason grins wolfishly and Stephanie snorts out a laugh.

“Just don’t get Tim killed, and I’m OK with that.” Stephanie tells him, leaning more heavily on his boot. 

“No promises, Blondie.” Jason smirks, tapping on her side with the toe of his boot that isn’t being leant on.

“Well, if we’re doing nicknames, you’ll need one too, Jason. I think I’ll call you... hmmm. Give me a minute.” Dick says, running through various nicknames in his head. Snookums? No, that’s just awful. Thor Thundercock? Also no, Jason would like that, finding it complimentary. Which it is, so... No. Love Muffin? No, it doesn’t fit Jason. Daddy? No, Dick’ll keep that for when he finally gets Jason back into his bed. Sugar Bear? Yes, that could work. “...I think I’ll go with Sugar Bear.”

“Sugar... No. Absolutely fucking not.” Jason says, aghast. He looks like he wants to strangle Dick, but he doesn’t move with Stephanie on his legs.

“Too late. You’re Sugar Bear now.” Dick grins widely, enjoying the way Jason narrows his eyes at him and looks like he’s planning his murder. It gives Dick warm tingles all through his body. _Fuck_ he really does love it when Jason shows his evil side.

“NO. Why would you even pick that?” Jason throws his arm out wide in exasperation, as if he’s begging the gods above why.

“Because you’re a bear. And I want some sugar from you. So, Sugar Bear, obviously!” Dick says as if it’s self explanatory. Steph laughs quietly at this, while Barbara grins and shakes her head fondly at Dick. Dick smiles softly at the supportive gesture.

“You are not getting sugar from me. I am not your neighbour. And you are _not_ calling me that.” Jason says after a moment. His tone is firm and commanding and Dick wants to give into it. But...

“Whatever you say, Sugar Bear.” Is what Dick says instead. Jason groans and Dick feels a floaty sense of glee at that noise.

“I notice you didn’t deny the bear thing.” Barbara grins at Jason, biting back a laugh, even though amusement is dancing in her eyes.

“I’m not stupid enough to try to deny that. I mean I always thought of myself as more of a wolf...” Jason shrugs nonchalantly and holds up his hands to show off his tattoos. “But yeah. I’m a bear.” 

“He’s my Sugar Bear!” Dick beams, spinning around in his chair once more. Teasing Jason until he gets mad has always lead to the best results for Dick in the past. He doesn’t see why anything will change in the future.

“NO! No, no, fuck you, no.” Jason snarls. Oh yeah, this is going to be amazing, Dick’s sure of it. 

 

Vienna, 1890 - 1904:

After the unmitigated disaster that was supposed to be a nice night out in Vienna, but turned into Jason holding off a wave of vampire hunters while Dick escaped out of the burning theatre; Jason’s spent who knows how many days chained to the wall of their dank, damp and dark and freezing cold underground laboratory. Dick hasn’t come for him. Jason hasn’t heard even the slightest whisper of an attack on this place. He knows Dick made it out safely, he saw it with his own eyes. Dick’s abandoned him, like Țepeș told him he would. 

His chest aches from all the times they’ve cut him open to peer inside and work out vampire biology. There are rows of cells, full of chained up vampires just like him, being experimented upon. His formerly nice suit is now rags, and he hasn’t fed in far too long. His wrists are shackled above his head and a collar chained to the ground is around his neck, keeping him in place. The shackles and collar are spelled shut, not that he could open them with how weak he feels.

Three burly men unlock his barred cell; they’re given no privacy at all here, while he stares listlessly at the ceiling. They carry him out to the surgery theatre, where the rows for the audience are filled. Jason lets his head thump back onto the operating table as they tie him down. He closes his eyes and grits his teeth against the pain once again. Dimly in the background he can hear someone chanting something, but he pays it no mind. Up in the high windows by the ceiling, the only place any natural light is allowed in here, Jason can see flashes of lightning.

His eyes roll into the back of his head as the agony rips through him.

***

Jason lost track of the days after he counted them past 1000. It didn’t seem worth keeping count. That was more than a while ago now. He’s chained to a post in a courtyard outside of the hunter’s base. There are six other vampires with him, all chained to their own post. Apparently none of them are needed anymore, as dawn’s rapidly approaching and they’ve been left there with only two bored guards.

The sun gradually crests the horizon and Jason sees it for the first time in well over 800 years. The small walled courtyard is still in shadow, and by the time Jason’s eyes have recovered from the bright light, the pure unfiltered sunlight is creeping across the courtyard floor. The chill in the air isn’t countered by the sunlight. By the time it reaches Jason’s outstretched feet, Jason’s prepared himself for death. He’ll be going to Hel which, if he’s honest, doesn’t rankle as much as he thought it would. Hel’s realm is full of the dead who didn’t make it to Valhalla for various reasons. Usually because they were female, but Jason doesn’t really care. The vampires either side of him catch alight, the flames licking up their bodies until they’re nothing but ash. Jason blinks, coughing out the dust that catches in his mouth. He stares up at the sun in shock. He should have burned like the others. Why is he still here?

The two guards are yelling and the courtyard fills with men, doctors and hunters alike to see the miracle. One man in a suit comes and kneels down by him, pulling out a pocket watch and checking the time. Jason ignores him and everyone else, staring up at the blue sky he hasn’t seen in so long. He’d always thought that Dick’s eyes were the colour of the sky, but now he realises the sky is so much lighter than they are. The courtyard eventually empties, and over the course of the day, Jason remains there, staring at the sky. It’s not until it’s fully dark that he’s dragged inside. As they pull him in he finds his voice enough to ask a question.

“What’s the date?” He rasps out, throat dry and painful, but he doesn’t care.

“The fourteenth of October.” One of the men says, after some hesitation. The guards aren’t meant to talk to them apart from barking out necessary orders.

“And the year?” Jason says, voice nearly giving out, even though the amusement is bubbling through him. The battle at Hastings had been on the fourteenth of October.

“1896. Now shut up.” The guard snarls, punching him in the head as they get inside.

Jason laughs, cackling to himself as he’s dragged back to his cell. It’s been 830 years to the day since he last saw sunlight.

***

As the days have passed and the doctors and hunters have taken blood from him, putting him through tests more painful than the last, Jason’s strength is growing slowly but surely. He spends his time working at his shackles, pulling at the chains attached to the wall. Today he can finally feel the bolts holding them up failing, forced out of the wall by his pulling. They give and his chains drop to the ground, taking his arms down with them. It hurts, but less than their experiments. He takes a moment to relish not having his shoulders pulled upwards, and then takes a deep breath.

He lifts his hands to the collar around his neck and _pulls_. It snaps with less effort than he was expecting. The shackles go next, just as easily. He pushes up onto his feet, feeling all his strength returning as the spells on the shackles no longer affect him. He grins, flexing his shoulders, and lifts a foot to the lock on his cell door. He pulls it back a little and then kicks as hard as he can. The door explodes outwards, and Jason walks through it. All the other barred cells are empty, Jason’s the only prisoner here and has been for weeks.

He walks through the complex, killing everyone he sees before they can make a sound. He breaks necks, rips out throats, feeds on the ones that don’t smell sick, and there are startlingly few of them. Eventually he comes across a lavishly decorated office, all in rich dark Germanic wood and thick red velvet, and inside it, the doctor who always vivisected him more roughly than the others did. Him, that heartless bastard, he shoves his whole hand into his chest and rips out his still beating heart. He watches his body drop to the floor and lets the heart fall next to it. He looks up to see a large ornate mirror there. He’s covered head to toe in the blood of those he’s killed, but his eyes are drawn to the newly appeared white streak in his hair. It must have happened during one of the experiments, but Jason has no idea when. This is the first time he’s looked in a mirror since the theatre fire.

There’s a porcelain washbasin with several jugs of water in the office, and an open wardrobe. Jason looks down at the rags he’s in and shrugs, going to wash off thoroughly in the basin, pouring jug after jug over himself in an effort to get clean before he steals a very nice grey pinstripe three piece suit, calf length black boots and thick black woollen coat and hat from the wardrobe, and after searching through them, all the money he can find in the desk drawers. There’s a surprisingly large amount of banknotes in the drawers and Jason’s going to make sure he spends them all frivolously, after travel expenses, of course.

Next he knocks over all the oil lamps he finds in the now dead and empty complex, conveniently for him the fools had never switched to electricity, and as he walks out of the building, he looks back to see the flames engulf it with glee.


	7. I believe in you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotham, ???, and London.

Gotham, 2018:

Dick settles into his seat in History class, ready to be entertained by how wrong everything the teacher’s about to tell him is. He consistently gets F’s in this class, mainly down to his insistence on writing out his homework the way things were as he lived them, not how the textbooks and Mr Wright say they were. Jason slips in just before the last student, taking his seat in the back of the room and looking not quite right. Dick can’t put his finger on what’s wrong with him, but there’s an unease and jerky quality to his movement that Dick can’t recall seeing from him before. It’s exacerbated by the fact he’s wearing a red sleeveless t-shirt, showing off the full tattoo sleeves on his arms.

Mr Wright walks in and announces that they’ll be watching a movie. Dick rolls his eyes, but supposes it’ll be more fun that listening to Wright’s dry recital of the textbook. The TV is wheeled in and the dvd loaded into the player. The title of the film barely has time to flash up on the screen before Jason’s up and out of his seat, running through the door. Dick follows after him automatically.

Jason finally slows down three hallways away and into the deserted arts wing, stopping to sit on the second bottom step of the stairwell, his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging down. He looks like the picture of defeat. Dick sits next to him and gives him a worried look. It’s not like Jason to run away from anything. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Jason says, voice ragged.

“OK, Sugar Bear. We can just sit here in silence if you want.” Dick says softly, leaning his shoulder into Jason’s. His Robin’s Egg blue velvet smoking jacket rubs against the bare skin of Jason’s arm.

“Don’t fucking call me that...” Jason sighs, heavily. “Buggeration, Dickie! Why do you always manage to make me talk? It’s so fucking annoying.”

“It’s a skill.” Dick says, not smiling, for once, even though he’s joking. “I’m not going to make you talk, but I’ve never seen you like this... I know we’re not what we used to be, but you can tell me if something’s wrong. I’ll keep it to myself.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Jason says, and Dick’s not remotely convinced. “I just... I don’t like those films, OK? They get so much wrong, and when they don’t get it wrong it’s... too much. I don’t...”

“You don’t?” Dick encourages gently. He wants to wrap Jason in his arms, but they’re at a weird stage of no longer enemies, but not quite friends either.

“I was there. I don’t need a reminder. I’ll never forget it. I know, I’ve tried.” Jason grits out.

“Oh. Damn, really?” Dick says without thinking. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.” Jason sighs, and shoves his hand in his pocket, pulling out a silver bracelet, handing it to Dick. Dick takes the cool metal between his fingers and runs the tip of his index finger over the indentations. 

FOX, P.T, SERGEANT, X357635X

“The official Identification tags were... not that durable. I mean not that I’d have left a body, but it was the appearance I needed to keep up, wasn’t it?” Jason says, by way of explanation.

“P.T?” Dick asks, hoping that’s not prying too much.

“Peter Todd.” Jason shrugs. “I picked a random first name when I enlisted. There was a poster for a fair at St Peter’s church, so I used that. It kind of stuck after that. And I wanted something of my old name too.”

“You know, you don’t really look like a Peter to me, Sugar Bear. But the sergeant thing’s impressive.” Dick says. At least he knows where the Peter in Peter Reynard came from now.

“Not really.” Jason snorts. “It was a field promotion. All the brass died going over the top. Someone had to take charge and I was the senior ranked.”

“Still.” Dick traces his fingers over the bracelet once more, before handing it back to Jason. He doesn’t slip it back into his pocket, fastening it around his left wrist instead.

“I... My boys. I...” Jason chokes off, looking away ashamed. “I took care of them as best I could. I should have done more.”

“I wasn’t there, but I know that’s not true. You did everything you could, I know you did. You always look after what’s yours.” Dick protests. 

“ _Fuck_ , they were _so young_. One of them, Hale? He was fourteen, younger than Thomas. Lied about his age on the enlistment forms when the rest of his village signed up. ‘Back by Christmas’! What fun! Mud, rats, mustard gas and constant shelling.” Jason says, blackly.

“And instead it was four years...” Dick says quietly more to himself than Jason.

“We went over the top. Hale got caught in some barbed wire, took some shrapnel from a mortar to the chest. I got him back to the trench. Everyone was so happy he wasn’t left out there. He was dying and I thought, why not? If I turn him, he’ll still be able to walk in the sun. Nothing really has to change for him.” Jason says with a worrying fierceness. He keeps quiet, thinking that if he speaks Jason will stop, and Jason clearly needs to get this off his chest. “So I did. I turned him and he was healed and fine and, _fuck_ the entire squad was ecstatic. They called it a miracle.”

“That’s...” Dick says quietly, but Jason keeps going.

“So there we were. The first morning after with real sunlight. We stepped out and he smiled and then he caught on fire and turned to ash before I could even realise what was going on. And you know? That wasn’t even the worst part.” Jason pauses, wiping away his angry tears harshly. “The lads, every last one of them, they lied. Told anyone who asked that I’d never got him off the field. They all covered for me.”

“Oh, Jason.” Dick’s heart is breaking at the look of utter devastation on Jason’s face.

“They told me after that I was their hero. That they didn’t care I was a monster, I was _their_ monster, keeping them safe.” Jason says, staring into the distance, lost in the memory. “That was the moment I decided hell couldn’t have them. They were _my lads_ and _hell couldn’t have them_.”

“...Jason.” Dick’s lost for words, barely whispering his name.

“Lo, there do I see my Father. And lo, there do I see my Mother and my Brothers and my Sisters. And lo, there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning and lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla. Where thine enemies have been vanquished. Where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice for those that have died the glorious death.” Jason recites, voice breaking. Dick reaches out to him as he finishes the prayer, but Jason shies away, standing and speeding away from him again. 

 

Secret location somewhere in rural England, 1942:

Jason and two of his fellow SOE Agent candidates are out on a mountain side, attempting to get away from the shack holding the maps they’ve stolen. It’s their final test before they’re sent overseas. They made it through the psychological testing, and what Jason wouldn’t give to see his own file. He can’t help but wonder what they make of him. 

They’ve made it through the memorisation tests, which Jason found easy, the obstacle courses, which again gave him no trouble. The high wire, Jason had been the next up to the high wire after the poor sod before him had fallen from the forty foot high wires, breaking his neck on the ground and dying instantly. As far as Jason had been concerned as long as he hadn’t fallen on a branch, he’d have been fine.

After that had been the weapons, combat and silent killing courses, all of which Jason had received top marks for. Then the Morse code and wireless operations course, although in Jason’s case, he’d gone to the demolitions course instead of the wireless operations. They’d been taught to ‘pick’ locks, which involved no picking whatsoever, and use basic stealth. They’ve been taken out to the wilderness for the survival course over two nights and taken up in an aeroplane to learn how to jump with a parachute. Jason had hated himself for thinking about how much Dick would have loved parachuting the entire way down.

And they’ve even made it up the damn eighty foot _Ladder_ , the frankly evil sheer drop of cliff the three ladders were attached to giving even Jason pause; but now they’re about to fail at the last hurdle because fucking McAfferty, no sorry, Francois, won’t move his fucking arse down the incline. The Special Operations Executive isn’t for the faint of heart, so the fact Francois has got this far only to give up now is infuriating.

The guards might have live ammunition but they’re not actually going to shoot him. Jason’s seriously tempted to do it himself though. They’ve got ten minutes to get past the guard and back to the wireless’ location. They’ve got the maps and the information they need, Mary, Marianne, has coded the message ready to be sent off on the wireless, and if _Francois_ doesn’t move, he’s going to be left behind. Jason’s got to make a decision, but leaving a man behind rankles at him more than he thought it would.

“Pierre! Pierre Reynard! We have to go!” Marianne whispers frantically. Jason looks at her and nods, still not quite used to his codename yet.

“Go, I’m right behind you.” Jason, Pierre, whispers back. “Francois is on his own.” 

“You’d better be, young man.” Marianne whispers, sliding down the last of the incline to the curve in the road, just beyond the view of the guards. She’s about the last person anyone would think could be a spy and resistance fighter, being over sixty and looking every inch the grandmother she is. She’s taken to spycraft like a duck to water, and Jason’s proud of her, despite only meeting her two weeks ago. He even lets the young man remark go. 

Thirty seconds after Marianne is on the road heading to the wireless’ location, Jason’s stepping on to the road, casually walking up behind her and offering his arm to her. She takes it with a quick worried smile, and they keep up a decent pace, making it to the place where they’ve hidden the wireless and send off the message. Five minutes later, they’ve packed up the wireless and are back on the road, heading towards the truck where their superior officers are waiting for them within the time limit. They sit in the truck, sipping at the weak tea that the driver passes to them in a flask. Well, Marianna sips at it, and Jason pretends to. 

Ten minutes after the time limit is up, Francois, McAfferty, whatever his name is, trudges up with one of the ‘guards’ in tow. Their instructors sigh, but motion him to get in the truck. After they spend a few minutes discussing their candidates’ actions, while Jason and the other sit in awkward silence, they finally drive back to the stately home they’ve been staying at during training.

***

The next morning McAfferty is gone, vanished in the night as so many of the other candidates have, Marianne and Jason are alone at the breakfast table. He gives her an encouraging smile and she gives him a steely one right back, and Jason’s sure she’s going to be absolutely fine wherever she ends up. That lady has more steel in her than a hundred warriors Jason’s seen over the course of his long life.

After breakfast, Jason adjusts his uniform, staring out of the window in his room. Once he’s called downstairs he’ll be receiving his first orders to go into the field. He’s not nervous, but he’s well aware how dangerous this is. By this time tomorrow, he’ll be parachuting into France or Poland and helping the Resistance to fight off the Nazis.

 

Gotham, 2018:

It’s after hours at the school and they’ve just cleared out the final vampires that invaded, all of them now dust to be cleaned up by someone who doesn’t get paid enough for this shit. Dick had lured away three of the vampires from the main group into a hallway on his own, and a year ago he would have been done with them in less than thirty seconds, but this time it had taken him five minutes to dispatch two of them. One of them had torn his blue hoodie wide open, from neck to elbow, which had pissed Dick off. He’d _liked_ this hoodie, damn it! If Jason hadn’t turned up to literally rip the head off of the last one, Dick’s pretty sure he would have been a goner.

Jason is yelling angrily at him and Dick’s desperately trying to will his erection away. Or stop himself from doing something stupid like kissing Jason.

“Do you have _any_ idea just how fucking unbelievably stupid running off on your own was? DO YOU? You could have died. NO ONE BUT ME IS ALLOWED TO KILL YOU, DICKIE. You dumb selfish _fuck_!” Jason bellows, rage clear on his face, eyes flashing red before he gains control of himself.

“That’s not how it was, Sugar Bear! I was handling it!” Dick tries, knowing that it’s a complete lie, but feeling like he has to attempt to seem in control.

“Don’t call me that, Goldie!” Jason snarls. He really doesn’t like that nickname, Dick realises. He makes it a goal to make Jason love it. “You were pinned to the floor about to be monster munch! That’s exactly how it was!”

“Look, I know you think I’m goddamn useless now, but I was fine.” Dick’s not convincing anyone, and Jason’s forcefulness is getting to him. He wants to drop to his knees and suck for Jason’s forgiveness.

“You were fine because I offed that guy right over you!” Jason says, utterly exasperated, and crossing his magnificent arms across his equally solid chest glaring at Dick. Being glared at really shouldn’t be making Dick hotter, but it is.

“Aaargh, you’re so... ungh!” Dick blurts out, losing the ability to make a coherent sentence.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Jason blinks, uncrossing his arms, confused.

Dick doesn’t bother responding verbally, he’s too busy launching himself at Jason with his mouth leading the way. Dick’s hands land on either side of Jason’s face and their lips meet and fireworks go off in Dick’s brain. Jason stiffens, caught in the indecision of grabbing Dick or shoving him away. Dick just hopes that Jason lets him kiss him long enough to remember how good they were together. It’s sudden and violent when Jason does move. He picks Dick up by the legs, slamming him into the wall of lockers as he kisses back. 

Dick wraps himself around Jason as best he can by gripping onto his leather jacket, kissing him frantically and trying to show him how much he was missed. Jason peels them away from the wall, heading towards an empty classroom. Dick doesn’t pull his mouth away, worried that if he does, Jason will reconsider. Jason stumbles them into the room, knocking into a chair. He ends up laying Dick out over the attached desks of two chairs, kissing him until Dick has to pull away to breathe. It’s an odd sensation Dick thinks, having to stop kissing Jason to breathe. It’s not something he’s ever had to do before.

Dick turns his face to Jason’s ear, running his blunt human teeth over the edge of the shell, and Jason takes the time to kiss along Dick’s jaw and down his neck, something that Dick always loved him doing. He feels Jason’s fangs drop the closer he gets to Dick’s pulse, his lips parting over the skin of Dick’s neck to lick over his pulse point. Dick can feel his heart rate go up, having an apex predator like Jason so close to a vulnerable place. The need and want in his belly is growing with the slight tinge of fear and Dick _wants_ to beg Jason to bite him. He isn’t stupid enough to actually do it though.

The sharp points of Jason’s fangs graze over Dick’s skin and Dick breathes in deeply. Before he can decide whether to push Jason away, kiss him again or pull him in closer, those fangs sink deep into his neck and Dick freezes. The peculiar magic of a vampire’s bite keeps him still and pliant as Jason drinks, until the pulling sensation grows and grows into a pleasure of its own. Dick’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and he’d moan if he dared to move his throat. The lust he was feeling fades as the blood recedes from his groin to his brain. 

Jason pulls his teeth from Dick’s neck, tongue licking over the puncture wounds to help seal them, the way Dick taught him to when feeding from prey you want to keep alive. Dick pants, heart hammering in his chest as Jason lifts off of him and stares at him with fear and horror and guilt on his face. Dick reaches out to him, trying to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth to tell him it’s alright. But the weird properties of a vampire bite that keep you pacified means he can’t. 

Jason stares down at Dick’s bite rumpled, beaten and aching form, and steps back, shaking his head. Dick sits up, trying to get to him. Jason speeds away, out of the classroom and Dick punches the chair he’s sitting on. Jason running away from him is turning into an annoying habit Dick could really do without. He lifts a trembling hand to his neck, touching at the bite mark. When he checks his fingers, there’s no blood there, but there are traces of his gold lipstick, transferred from his mouth to Jason’s. 

 

London, 1985:

“I honestly don’t know how you can listen to that.” Algernon Fanshaugh says as he walks into Jason’s sitting room at the exact moment that the last frenetic burst of guitar riffs for Pantera’s Valhalla plays. “It’s not music, it’s just _noise_.” Algernon’s the taller and posher of the two young watchers that Jason’s training in combat. He’s every inch the stereotypical upper class twit at first glance, right up to the Saville Row suite, but Jason’s seen his stiff upper lip slip just enough to know the man has a good heart underneath all the classist bluster.

“Well, firstly, my second favourite infant, the thrashing of the guitars can be euphoric. And secondly, technically- ” Jason starts only to be interrupted.

“All music is noise.” Bellamy Todd says, finally catching up with his partner. Bellamy’s the shorter, blonder and far more working class of the two, as evidenced by his suit coming from a department store. He has a reputation as a cheeky chappie who can’t take anything seriously, but Jason’s seen the rage that underlies the smiles and knows he’s got a dangerous side to him that needs guidance. 

“Ah yes, thank you, my favourite infant.” Jason says with a grin and Bellamy gives him a cheerful cockney thumbs up.

“You know you could just use our names.” Algernon says sniffily, adjusting his cuffs the way he always does when he’s feeling insecure.

“Yanno, Algie, I don’t fink someone who still refers to his ol’ school roommate as _Miffy_ has any room ta talk. ’Ow do you even get Miffy from Ian Ford? Makes no sense, mate.” Bellamy says with a look that screams ‘why are the upper classes like this?’

“Never you mind about that, _Toddler_. We have a mission.” Algernon tries to maintain a controlling aura at all times, but Bellamy gets under his skin far more easily that anyone other than Jason can.

“It’s my night off. _I_ am listening to my modern noise. No.” Jason says, not the least bit interested in levering himself off of his large, very comfortable leather sofa, where he’s stretched all the way out and relishing it. He stares out of his huge Georgian window at the darkening night sky. The entire building has the near floor to high ceiling windows that were so typical back then and Jason’s rooms in the Watchers Headquarters are no different to any of the others. Well, apart from the fact he has the best view along the street to the little park across the street, of course.

“Aww, but Boss! If you don’t come along you’ll be missing out on a spot of stakey-stakey and a bit of the old decapitation!” Bellamy says, mimicking Algernon’s upper class accent and way of talking with perfect precision.

“How can I resist that? I’ll grab my axe.” Jason says dryly, not moving a muscle from the sofa.

“Really?” Bellamy perks up, showing some genuine enthusiasm for once, and not his usual faked cheer.

“No.” Jason says flatly. It’s a good job he has Bat Out of Hell on vinyl, these two children are talking all the way through the radio edit version. It’s a more than a little annoying if Jason’s honest.

“Very well. I’ll buy you a bottle of whatever you fancy, if you can bare to tear yourself away from your _noise_.” Algernon sighs, resorting to bribery. It looks like he’s finally learning something about motivating his troops. It’s only taken Jason six months to hammer that lesson in.

“Well, in that case! I’ll grab my coat.” Jason says, mock brightly. He does however, get up from the sofa and pull down his Meatloaf t-shirt from where it’s rucked up from him lying down, running his hand through his hair. It’s getting long, finally, it’s brushing his shoulders now. He’d tried dying the white streak out several times, but no matter what he uses, it never takes.

“Why the High Council of Watchers decided to lumber us with a vampire I’ll never know.” Algernon mutters under his breath.

“Because my second favourite infant, you need training from the best. Unfortunately for you, the best is currently training the top of the class from the Watcher’s Academy. Which means _you_ get to work with the 940-ish year old vampire who’s trained the last three generations of top ranked Watchers in the country.” Jason says, grabbing his leather jacket and shoving his wallet into his jeans pocket. 

“I... uh... yes. Quite.” Algernon says, flustered and embarrassed in that very English way that only the upper classes ever seem to manage.

“Aaah, don’t worry, Old Boy. Boss’ll train us up right proper.” Bellamy pats Algernon on the shoulder consolingly.

“I will. And for the record, that’s why you’re my favourite infant, Toddler.” Jason says, giving Bellamy a finger gun as he turns off his radio before Aces High gets too far into the song.

“I can live wiv that.” Bellamy grins, holding the door open for Jason and giving a little playful bow as he walks through.

“We’re. Uh, we’re headed to Camden, Mr Reynard. A coven of Shax demons.” Algernon says, getting his head back in the game after his little social faux pas.

“Well, let’s see if we can teach you a thing or two, then, Fanshaugh.” Jason says, picking up his axe from besides the front door to his apartment.

***

“Mr Peter Reynard.” The snooty councilman calls out, and Jason sighs, standing up from the uncomfortable stone bench, adjusting his waistcoat and suit jacket, and tying his hair back into a low ponytail in an effort to look more professional, and walks over to the double doors of the meeting room in the High Council’s headquarters.

“Councilman.” Jason greets with no enthusiasm.

“Ready for your yearly review?” The man asks with a sneer and Jason’s reminded why he never bothered to learn this one’s name.

“Of course.” Jason says blandly, politely annoying the councilman greatly. He manages to keep the petty smile off his face as he walks into the meeting room. Jason takes his seat in front of the large curving table that holds all the High Council. He’s not nervous; he’s done this over thirty times, he’s an old hand at it now.

“Mr Reynard. Welcome.” The Chair of the meeting greets him in an unwelcoming tone. “We have some new members this year, are you amenable to a quick overview of your time with us before we start?”

“Of course.” Jason says. Not that he’d be saying anything different even if he did mind.

“Mr Reynard came to our attention during 1945 after serving with Distinction as an Agent of the SOE. For obvious reasons, we can’t go into detail. We approached him in 1949, with an offer of observation and refuge with an eye to either curing or removing the curse that allows him to traverse in the sunlight. Initially seconded to the library to help with organisation and fact checking; he has been assisting with our combat training and leadership programmes since 1965, his pupils include both Percival and Cyril Sheldrake, and Beryl Hutchinson. 

As a matter of personal note, he’s spent several years undercover as a student at a University. During which time he gained several degrees in various subjects and has been published as an Austen Scholar.” The Chair recites dryly. It’s a little odd to hear the last forty years of his life compacted into a single paragraph, but Jason ignores the discomfort and waits for the questions to begin.

“We’ll open the floor to questions now.” The Chair declares. Jason takes a slow shallow breath and waits to see what the council want to interrogate him on this year.

“Mr Reynard, given your long history of working with us, how do you think the supernatural community at large views you?” Councilwoman Lily Brent asks him. She’s a frail, thin lady in her eighties now, but Jason knows she’s a got a spine of steel. She’s a sweetheart outside of the meeting room, and one of the few council members Jason actually has time for. He’s on first name terms with her, and if that doesn’t say something, nothing will.

“The Community at large regards me as traitor and would happily see me burn.” Jason says blandly. It’s a question that gets asked every single year and every single year Jason gives the same answer. He’s glad Lily saw fit to get it out of the way as soon as possible. 

“Do you believe in the work we do here, Mr Reynard?” A fat ruddy councilman asks. Jason doesn’t know him; he must have transferred down to London from up north, if his accent is anything to go by.

“That depends on what you mean by believe and what you think the work is.” Jason says, staring straight into the man’s eyes. He doesn’t look away from Jason and that gives him some worth as far as Jason’s concerned. “Do I think that finding newer and better ways to support and train the Slayer to take out threats to the entire world’s safety is work to be believed in? Yes. If only because I live in this world, and despite what the young fresh vampires think, ending the world is not something to invest your time in.”

“So you don’t believe that all vampires, demons and other supernatural creatures should be banished or wiped out?” The man persists.

“No. Most of them are simply trying to live in this world quietly, making as little impact on the human population as possible.” Jason pauses and decides to word his next statement as blandly as possible. “I’ve lived a long time. I’ve seen various attempts at genocide and mass slaughter. Usually by humans. Most of the supernatural creatures who try to put such a plan into action are cut down by their comrades before a Slayer can even get involved.”

“Mr Reynard, it’s been said that a former associate of yours that you bear a grudge towards has resurfaced in America lately. What’s stopping you from leaving and seeking your revenge?” Another councilman asks, flicking through a stack of papers that Jason can see has a poor quality photo of Dick on the front.

“I’m aware of that. I have ties and responsibilities here that I currently hold in higher regard than my wish to avenge myself.” Jason says, focusing on that upside down photo. It’s the first time he’s seen Dick’s face in ninety-five years. Jason can’t look away, staring at the familiar curve of Dick’s jaw and the bright blue of his eyes and the inky black of his hair in stark contrast with the creamy paleness of his skin. He looks drunk. There’s a wide smile on his face and there’s sweat dripping down his cheeks. He has streaks of make-up over his face that remind Jason of the 1770’s. Jason had hated those last few decades of the 1700’s. And then Jason realises that Dick’s into New Wave. He should have guessed. Of course he’d be into New Wave. Jason’s often thought that Adam Ant looks a little like Dick if he squints.

“What are these ties and responsibilities?” The councilman asks, and Jason watches the photo slip to the floor, picture side up, landing right by his foot. There’s no way that wasn’t deliberate. Jason forces himself to look up.

“I have a made and upheld certain promises to my former comrades from the Great War. I’ll continue to uphold them while they live.” Jason says firmly, staring the councilman down. 

The questions continue on for another half hour before the council let Jason leave.


	8. I would die for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotham and London 2

Gotham, 2018:

Jason avoids Dick for two full days until sometime after ten in the evening, there’s a knock on Dick’s bedroom window while he’s lounging around in loose sweats and a threadbare sleeveless t-shirt. 

Dick rushes over to open it and Jason jumps in, looming over him and looking like he’s about to pronounce judgement. Dick doesn’t let him speak, jumping up to wrap his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck, and his mouth on Jason’s. Unlike last time he kissed Jason, this time there’s no hesitation in kissing back. Jason’s arms come up around his back, pulling him in tight and Dick’s heart feels like it grows two sizes.

He’s not sure who pulls off their clothing, focusing more on the way Jason’s mouth moves against his. But they end up naked on the bed, and Dick barely has the presence of mind to grab the lube from his bedside cabinet drawer, passing it to Jason who looks at it for a second, and then gets to work opening Dick up for the wrecking and ruin and utter destruction of his ability to ever want anyone else inside him again.

Because this is what Dick’s needed. To be on his back, legs slung over Jason’s shoulders as he pounds his thick cock into Dick so deliciously. The backs of Jason’s fingers brush against his balls as he pulls his legs further apart, lifting him up into his lap so that only Dick’s shoulders are on the bed. Dick wants to reach down and jerk off, he wants some stimulation to his cock so badly, but his fingers are gripping the pillow under his head so tightly he’s not sure he can let go.

“ _Fuck_ , Sugar Bear, you’re so big! I love it.” Dick moans, enjoying the stretch as Jason pushes in so deep there’s nothing left to take.

“Don’t call me that, Goldie.” Jason snarls, but the look in his eyes tells Dick he doesn’t mind the teasing so much.

“What are you going to do? Spank me?” Dick says, grinning widely.

“You know what? Yes.” Jason says, moving a hand from his hold on Dick’s thigh and with a loud crack sound, bringing it down on Dick’s ass. Dick gasps out a whine; his whole body is feeling the shock of it, clenching down and jerking against Jason’s hold.

“Jason!” Dick moans, lifting his hips up as much as he can manage. “Please, more!”

“Yeah, I know. You love that.” Jason says, doing it again and again until Dick’s arse is red and warm and sore. Dick can’t stop smiling. “Yeah, you give me that big huge smile, Dickie, the one that tells me you’re getting fucked just right.”

“This is yours.” Dick sobs out, still smiling and squeezing down on Jason’s cock. “It fits you perfectly. Takes you so sweetly. Like it was made for you. Because I am.” 

“Dick...” Jason leans forward, pressing Dick’s legs down as he pushes his arms up underneath him, curling one hand around Dick’s shoulder and the other goes to cradle his neck.

“And maybe I’ve found bigger. Or more skilled. But no one ever made me feel the way you do. No one will ever fit me right like you do. You know that don’t you?”

Dick gasps out, catching his lower lip between his teeth.

“Yeah, yeah I do, _min Frue_.” Jason grins, remember the time he’d said near the exact same to Dick, centuries ago. “You’re mine.”

“Yes, yes I am.” Dick breathes out, the head of his cock rubbing maddeningly along Jason’s abs. He’s going to come any second, and he wants to do it with Jason’s lips on his. He forces his fingers to let go of the pillow, lifting up to trail along Jason’s jaw line, bringing his face down further so that their lips meet. Dick can feel Jason’s fangs drop the second he opens his mouth to him, and he keens into space between their lips as the change in angle means that Jason’s slamming right into his prostate. Dick comes with an intensity he hasn’t felt in over a hundred years, tears slipping from his eyes.

Jason keeps going, fucking him right through his orgasm, keeping his ass stretched wide even as it feels like his ribcage is being cracked open, his heart offered up as a sacrifice to Jason and his viking ways.

“Jason!” Dick moans, breathing hard and limp and pliant in Jason’s hold. As much as Jason loves it when Dick’s actively fucking himself on his cock, he also loves it when he’s driven Dick to such overwhelming heights of pleasure that all he can do is lie there and take it. “Todd!”

“I love you, Dickie.” Jason says, moving rougher and harder, and Dick loves it.

“I love you too, Jason.” Dick says, cradling Jason’s face in his hands and watching as the pleasure makes his eyes glaze over. “Please, give it to me, fill me up, husband. I love you.”

“I’d eat the sun for you, cause Ragnarok...” Jason makes a choked off snarl, hips moving recklessly and viciously, and Dick watches as Jason comes, giving Dick everything he can. Jason collapses on top of him and Dick revels in the weight of his husband on top of him. Jason rolls off him and Dick pouts at the loss of him, curling up into his side automatically.

“So...” Jason starts. “That actually wasn’t how I was going to apologise, but I think it worked out really fucking well anyway.”

“Oh my god.” Dick snorts. “It was a pretty good apology. I always like catching your axe.”

“I know, believe me, I know.” Jason kisses the top of Dick’s head and pulls him in closer with an arm around his back. “I uh... so, weirdly enough, the whole memory and information sharing thing that happens when vampires drink each other’s blood still works with you.”

“Oh. Oh, you mean you saw...” Dick says as the realisation comes over him.

“Yeah. Well, felt more than saw, but yes everything you felt since I was taken. I’m sorry.” Jason shifts under him slightly, discomforted by having taken something private from Dick without permission.

“Not your fault. And it wasn’t your fault.” Dick says, and Jason relaxes under him.

“So I uh... I thought I’d apologise by hopefully giving you back something you lost.” Jason says, running a finger up and down Dick’s spine.

“Well, you certainly did that!” Dick grins, poking Jason in the chest, making him snort fondly.

“Vasatichada.” Jason says, and Dick frowns, that word sounds sort of familiar. “Sorry, my pronunciation is probably awful.”

“Say that again?” Dick says, sitting up. There’s something scratching at the back of his mind, some memory that word is pulling out of the recesses of his subconscious.

“Vasatichada.” Jason says, and this time the word echoes through Dick’s head, back through time to a woman and a man calling that out and Dick as a child running towards them, only to be picked up and kissed on the cheek. Vasatichada, Vasatichada... and Dick inhales hard, and a part of him that he’d given hope of ever remembering opens up as his name is restored to him.

“How?” Dick gasps out, blinking away tears as he stares at Jason.

“It’s 20-fucking-18, Dickie. I used the internet. I looked up Sanskrit, got a whole list of variants, but I had a feeling it was that one.” Jason shrugs, faintly embarrassed and trying to play it cool.

***

Dick flops back into the couch, feeling more satisfied that he can remember being in so long.

“You look like you had a good night, Richard.” Alfred says, kneeling back from where he’s tending to the open fire in the sitting room.

“I did.” Dick grins widely. He feels on top of the world, like he could fly if he tried. Dick feels so loved right now.

“Hmm. I wonder if I should show you this file a friend of mine sent over from London. Or whether I need to. I have a feeling you know everything in this file.” Alfred says, picking up a thick file from the coffee table and waving it towards Dick.

“Well, that’s cryptic, Kid!” Dick grins, leaning back further into the couch and pulling his feet up to rest on the seat. Alfred gives him a look, but Dick’s in too good a mood to care about the no feet on the furniture rule.

“Shall I be blunt then?” Alfred says, with a sharp look in his eyes and Dick wonders what could be in that file that’s causing the man to be quite so serious.

“Why not, if only for the novelty value alone!” Dick says in a joking tone, but he’s sitting up and dropping his feet to the floor. He has a feeling that this is definitely not a joking matter.

“You’re well aware that Jason Todd is a vampire with the ability to walk in the sun. He’s been working with the High Council of Watchers in London, under the alias Peter Reynard. You’re also aware he was the Red Hood, albeit he’s not used that alias since enrolling at the school.” Alfred says, and Dick blinks in surprise.

“You know.” Shit, this isn’t just serious, this is potentially dire. Dick takes a deep breath.

“I do. I’m also aware that he’s your former lover, mostly known as the Viking.” Alfred says, looking at Dick solemnly. “Am I wrong?”

“No.” Dick admits, heart in his throat. One wrong word from Alfred and the lives Jason and Dick are building are gone.

“I thought not. The High Council of Watchers trusts him. Few civilians were hurt when he was the Red Hood.” Alfred says, nodding. He looks over to Dick and scrutinises him closely. “And the look you had on your face when you came downstairs tells me the two of you have repaired your relationship, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” Dick says, fists clenching in his lap, Dick can’t lose his temper here, but he can’t let anything happen to either Jason or himself. He can only hope he can talk Alfred into keeping his silence. The alternatives don’t bare thinking about.

“Good. You suit each other well.” Alfred says, with a sudden warm smile on his face. Dick blinks in shock.

“You... you’re not going to tell?” Dick stammers, confused. Is Alfred really not going to tell anyone? But what about his duty? 

“No, I don’t see the need to.” Alfred says with another smile, throwing the file into the open fire. “Don’t make me regret this, Richard.”

“You won’t. I swear. Thank you, Alfred.” Dick says, feeling unbearably fond of Alfred right now.

 

London, 2017:

Jason walks back into his rooms, going into his bedroom to take off his nice suit and tie, changing into jeans and his Meatloaf t-shirt, and running his hand through his short hair, fingers twisting into the white stripe to tug it briefly, before going back into the sitting room and flopping down onto his sofa without a sound. Funerals are always a sombre business, but this one had hit him exceptionally hard. Freddie had been the last survivor of his boys from WW1, and now, almost a full hundred years after Jason had got him home alive, old age had finally taken him peacefully in his sleep.

Bellamy follows him in, detouring only to pour them both a large whiskey before he sits on the sofa with him. “It were a good service.” He hands Jason his glass and then takes a sip of his own. Jason stares at the liquid in his glass, trying hard to think of nothing.

“It was. Thank you for coming with me, Toddler.” Jason says, staring out of his huge Georgian window to the view of the London street below. He’s going to miss that view, he realises.

“O’ course.” Bellamy gives him a small smile. “It were hard for me when Algie died, an’ I only knew ‘im fifteen years. I can’t imagine what you must be goin’ frough.”

“Losing people never gets easier.” Jason nods, he looks around his sitting room, at the way all the furniture has white sheets draped over it. 

“No. Thass true.” Bellamy says quietly, and Jason feels the moment is right to share a toast.

“Lo, there do I see my Father, and lo, there do I see my Mother, and my Brothers and my Sisters. And lo, there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning and lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla. Where thine enemies have been vanquished, where the brave shall live Forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice for those that have died the glorious death. Skall.” Jason recites holding his glass up to the ceiling, before lowering it and downing the contents in one go, and dropping the empty glass down on the seat next to him. 

“Skall.” Bellamy chokes out, not used to Jason’s quality of whiskey. He’s only sipping at it too. Once he swallows the last of it, he scoops up Jason’s glass and then leans forward, putting both of their glasses on the coffee table.

“So, what time is you headin’ off? You sure I can’t convince you ta stay?” Bellamy asks once he clears his throat. “What are you even gonna do over there, anyways?”

“Right about now.” Jason says checking his phone. “My flight’s in a couple of hours and I need to get to the airport to check in. Stupid travel regulations. And no. You don’t need me here, Toddler. And I have unfinished business I need to deal with. I need to do some recon, get the lay of the land and whip up a plan to draw him out. It’s going to take some time, but it’ll be worth it in the end.” 

“Well, in that case, I’d better give this ta you now.” Bellamy says, pulling a thick brown envelope out of his inner suit pocket. “It’s your new passport an’ ID. Along wiv a few contact details and the like ta help you on your way.” Jason shakes the passport out and flips it open.

“Jason Todd.” He flicks his gaze to Bellamy. “Really?”

“It were picked ta combine your two true names.” Bellamy shrugs. “The fact it makes us related is jus’ a bonus, _nephew_!”

“I regret ever getting drunk enough to tell you my names.” Jason snorts, shaking his head. It had been after Algernon’s funeral, he remembers with some sadness, after more than a few drinks much like the one they’ve just shared here.

“You shouldn’t. Now that I’m on the ‘igh Council, anyone that calls ta confirm your identity will get directed straight ta me. You’re welcome.” Bellamy says, a little smugly, but the kid deserves to sound smug. He’s worked hard these last thirty-two years, and now he’s one of the youngest council members in a few decades at the ripe old age of fifty-five.

“I should get going.” Jason stands up, pulling on his leather jacket and shoving is new documents into the pocket.

“Yanno, Algie’s one regret in life were that ’e couldn’t get you ta call ‘im by ‘is name before ‘e died. I mean, I don’t mind bein’ upgraded ta Toddler from infant, Boss... but d’ya fink you could say it jus’ once? As a goin’ away present?” Bellamy says as Jason grabs his suitcase and bag and starts towards the front door.

“Take care of yourself and your family, Toddler.” Jason says, giving Bellamy a jaunty salute when he briefly turns to say goodbye.

“You too, Boss.” Bellamy says, giving back a sharp, polished British army salute, snapping his arm down hard with a grin.

“Oh, and Bellamy? Thank you.” Jason heads out of the door, hearing only a surprised ‘Yesss!” faintly through the walls as he leaves with a smile.

 

Gotham, 2017:

Dick blinks awake, fighting the thick heavy chains holding him immobile to the floor and the gag pressed painfully tightly between his jaws. He’s in some sort of dank grimy basement and someone’s stripped him down to his jeans. He remembers walking home from the club; well, more like staggering, really; fucked out loose and dripping from a gangbang and a little drunk. He must have been jumped in the alleyway after hearing those footsteps, and isn’t that embarrassing? With any luck it’s one of the guys he refused last night, so he won’t feel any guilt at ripping their throats out at the sheer bad manners of kidnapping him. 

His head aches and his vision is fuzzy, but he thinks he can make out two figures in front of him. One is a tall male with muscles, and as his vision clears a little he recognises him as Cassandra Cain’s watcher. He’s obviously here to get revenge on Dick for killing and turning her, a couple of years ago. Dick wonders how exactly he’s going to die. Painfully, definitely. But maybe he’ll get lucky and Wayne will want him on his feet. Shouldn’t his vampiric strength and power count as a weapon? The other figure resolves itself into the shape of a beautiful woman. Her long dark hair obscures her face but Dick’s sure she’s beautiful. They usually are in situations like this.

“Payment is accepted.” The woman says, her voice lilting in an accent that Dick can’t quite place beyond Old World.

“Good.” Wayne says with some satisfaction. He walks over to Dick, grabbing him by the hair and hauling him up to stare in his eyes. “You took something precious to me. Cassandra, my Slayer was like a daughter to me. Now I’m going to take the only thing you care about. All your power and strength are going to be stripped away from you. You’ll beg for death before I’m done with you.”

Dick can’t help but laugh. As if he cares about his power and strength. The only thing he’s ever cared about was Jason and he lost him a century ago. He lost _Jason_ , and he somehow survived it, despite how blurred with drink and drugs he was. Dick can take whatever Wayne wants to throw at him. The only thing Dick has left to lose is life. And he hasn’t cared about that since he lost Jason.  
“State your wish carefully, beloved.” The woman says as Dick keeps laughing.

“I wish that this creature here, the vampire known as Nightwing, will be turned human, losing all his vampiric strength and power, never again to be a vampire.” Wayne says, looking disquieted by Dick’s hysterical laughter.

“Wish granted.” The djinni says, her eyes glowing even through the heavy fall of her dark hair. Dick keeps laughing until the wave of magic unleashed by her eyes hits him. He’s never known physical pain like it. He screams and everything goes blissfully black.

 

Gotham, 2018:

Jason walks over to where Dick and the rest of the Slayer squad is sitting in the cafeteria with three plates of pizza in his hands, and several nods to his friends on the sportsball team as he walks by them.

“Oh my god, you bought me _three_ slices of pizza?! I love you.” Dick exclaims brightly as Jason passes him a plate.

“No. I bought you one slice of pizza. These are for the Austen girls.” Jason says sternly, turning on his heel and moving off.

“Who are the Austen girls?” Steph asks as Dick watches Jason walk away. God, the swagger he has makes Dick’s knees go weak. It’s a good job he’s sitting down.

“I don’t know...” Dick says with a shrug until Jason reaches the line leading up to the cafeteria counter where Emma and Elinor are waiting. “Oh... Them. Emma and Elinor.” Jason walks up to them and hands them a plate each. They look confused for a moment until Jason grins and fingerguns at them before walking away. They look at each other with delight and then over to Dick, giving him big grins and thumbs up and Dick can feel a blush starting across his face. Jason reaches their table and swings a leg over the bench to sit down facing Dick. He pulls his bottle of ‘protein shake’ out and takes a sip.

“Austen girls?” Barbara asks, chin in one hand and overstuffed sub sandwich in the other.

“They’ve both got the names of Austen protagonists. So, the Austen girls.” Jason shrugs, taking another sip.

“And why are you buying them pizza?” Steph says. “Because inquiring minds want to know how to get free pizza from you. And by inquiring minds, I mean me. I want free pizza, please.”

Jason and Dick share a conspiratorial grin and then Jason leans over to kiss Dick on the cheek.

“A gentleman never kisses and tells.” Jason says airily, winking at Steph who grins back at him.

“You are not a gentleman, Sugar Bear.” Dick snorts, shaking his head and taking a big bite of his pizza. The one food at this school that they always do right is pizza. And today is no exception.

“I know. You love it.” Jason smirks, quirking his eyebrow at Dick.

“I do, I really do.” Dick grins and kisses Jason quickly on the lips. He can’t stop smiling.

***

When Dick arrives at the Library after school, late due to an annoying makeup malfunction; and boy is he not buying that brand of lipstick again, he wanted his _lips_ green, not his _teeth_ ; everyone else is already gathered. Mr Wayne is also there and they all seem to be staring at two people Dick doesn’t recognise, a young woman and a pre-teen boy. It’s not until he draws close that he sees that the young woman is Cassandra Cain, the Vampire Slayer Dick had killed and turned. 

Dick slips around the outside of the people gathered there to where Jason is lazing against the stair rail up to the stacks. Dick throws him a worried smile, but Jason simply sends him an amused quirk of his eyebrow and then jerks his head toward Wayne. Dick looks over and sees how the man’s usually stony visage is a mixture of disbelief and confusion and Dick bites back a smile in order to listen to what’s being said. 

“And so my mother has sent me to live with you and learn your ways, for reasons I can’t fathom.” The boy says looking entirely put out with the situation he’s in. His accent is strange, a mix of British, with a hint of Arabic and something else that Dick can’t quite identify.

“And who is your mom?” Barbara says, in a soothing tone. It doesn’t work as the boy sends her a look of disgust.

“My _mother_ is Talia Al Ghul.” The boy says, obviously waiting for recognition. Dick can’t say he knows it, but Wayne obviously does from the sharp hiss he lets out.

“Your mother is Talia Al Ghul, the djinni?” Wayne asks the boy and Dick feels his stomach drop to his knees. This boy is the son of the djinni that cursed him to be human at Wayne’s bequest. Dick feels numb, and he slides down to sit on the stairs, staring at the floor. He feels Jason sit down behind him, his strong legs bracketing Dick either side in silent support. Dick leans back and takes in as much comfort as he can.

“So what’s your name, squirt?” Stephanie says, staring at the boy with her chin in her hand.

“Damian.” The boy says imperiously. Jason lets out a soft snort behind Dick and Dick looks up to him.

“The antichrist.” Jason whispers, and then when he sees Dick’s confused look continues. “The Omen? The seminal horror film? Really? You don’t know it?” Dick shakes his head. “Alright, guess we’re having a movie night tonight.”

“OK, Damian, who’s your dad then?” Stephanie asks him, obviously thinking the same thing as Jason from the grin she’s fighting to hide. 

“What do you mean, who is my father? He’s standing right there.” Damian points to Wayne. “My father is Bruce Wayne.”

“What! How?” Tim cries out and everyone turns to look at him. Tim blinks and blushes. “I mean, I know _how_ , I took biology! I just meant... how did Mr Wayne end up with a djinni? That seems odd. Uh, no offence, Mr Wayne.”

“That is none of your business, Mr Drake.” Wayne huffs, staring down at Damian with shock and maybe a slight hint of fear? Dick can’t help but feel some schadenfreude at the scene.

“It might not be. But uh, well. He’s turned up here looking for you and it might be a problem for me... so how?” Stephanie says, squaring her shoulders as Wayne glares at her. He doesn’t blink in the face of Wayne’s displeasure and after several long moments, Wayne sighs in defeat.

“I contracted Damian’s mother’s services in order to punish Grayson.” Wayne admits. “It was her wish that turned him human.”

“You can do that? Pay Djinnis to make wishes?” Stephanie says, perking up from her seat at the table. She’s obviously considering the possibilities of having some wishes granted.

“Djinn is the plural, my dear.” Alfred says quietly and Stephanie flashes him a quick smile of thanks.

“You can pay Djinn for wishes?” Stephanie corrects herself, tilting her head so her braided hair slips over her shoulder.

“Not exactly...” Wayne says, clearly not wanting to give out the information. “There were special circumstances.”

“Which are?” Barbara presses him, and Wayne turns to give her a dirty look but Barbara simply raises an eyebrow at him, clearly not cowed in the slightest.

“Traditionally, Djinn give out three wishes.” Wayne says to several nods of agreement. “However they can’t use their powers for themselves. I agreed to use two of mine to grant Talia’s wishes. The third wish was used on Grayson.”

“Wow. That seems like it could have gone horribly wrong. How could you tell she was a good guy?” Steph says, frowning a little.

“I had to trust she was.” Wayne says with a slight shrug. Dick thinks it’s more likely he just didn’t care if she was or not.

“My mother is powerful. She wanted a child and a safe place to raise me. Those were her wishes.” Damian adds, clearly pleased he can add to the conversation.

“And now you’re here. Well, congratulations Mr Wayne. It’s a boy.” Alfred says dryly, earning a glance from Wayne that dies before he can really make it. Alfred looks slightly smug at the failed glare being directed his way.

Cassandra uses the distraction of Damian’s parentage and circumstance of birth to slip away from the main group and come over to perches next to Dick. He tenses, wondering if she’s going to take revenge on him. Before Jason came back, Dick would have let her without a second thought, but now? Now, he’ll fight tooth and nail to survive.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Cassandra says after a minute or so of awkward silence.

“What?” Dick blinks at her, surely she can’t mean him killing her. Because it definitely was. He put his hands either side of her head and snapped her neck pretty brutally after all. 

“Me turning.” Cassandra clarifies, searching Dick’s face with those watchful eyes that feel like they see too much.

“I uh...” Dick stammers, flummoxed. It was his blood that turned her, but he has no idea how that happened.

“No. I cut your throat. I got a face full of blood. It was a stupid mistake. I swallowed it instead of spitting it out. I died with your blood in me. Not your fault.” Cassandra says firmly. She’s clearly thought about it a lot during the five years since he killed her.

“...No. No, it wasn’t. But I’m still sorry. I wasn’t meant to win that fight.” Dick says, if she can admit to her big mistake then Dick can do the same. Just this once.

“I know. I could tell. You were tired. You wanted it over.” Cassandra says, eyes clear and confident as she looks at Dick. “Me too. I didn’t fight as hard as I could. I was tired. I wanted to stop.” 

“I don’t feel that way anymore.” Dick says, looking up at Jason, who looks down at him with a mixture of guilt and regret that Dick wants to wipe away from his face.

“Me either.” Cassandra smiles at him. “I don’t blame you for any of it. Do you blame me?”

Dick thinks about it. “You know, I actually don’t. It wasn’t your choice to make me human. As far as I’m concerned we’re cool, as the kids say.”

“In that case... Hello, I’m Cassandra. Pleased to meet you.” Cassandra says, offering her hand to him to shake. Dick takes it firmly, shaking it once before letting go.

“Dick. It’s nice to meet you too.” Dick smiles and then Jason nudges him with his knee. He looks up to see Jason mouth ‘name her’ down at him.

“So... Cassandra. There’s a tradition in our culture. When a fledgling joins a coven, we give them a new name.” Dick pauses, because this part is hard to admit. “I should have taken you in and done this five years ago, but... would you like a new name?”

“Hmmm. I like this one.” Cassandra says after a long pause of thinking. She doesn’t look affronted at the thought of a new name, so she’s probably just used to Cassandra too much to change it now.

“A nickname then? How about Cass?” Dick suggests, he can’t not give her a name in some form, not now Jason’s prompted him to bring her into the coven.

“Cass.” Cassandra rolls the word around her mouth, feeling it out. “Yes. I like it. Thank you, Dick.”

“You’re welcome, Cass. And welcome to our coven.” Dick smiles at her, reaching out to ruffle her short hair. Amazingly, Cass lets him.

“It’s more of a family, really.” Jason says, with a welcoming smile. 

***

“Hey man, you’re not sticking around to celebrate with us?” Mal asks as he catches Jason about to slip out of the door and away from the team’s first win since Jason joined.

“No, Dickie said he’s setting up something special for me... So.” Jason shrugs with an honest open smile. “I’m ditching you losers to go get some.”

“Fair enough.” Mal shrugs. “More for us then. SPORTSBALL SCORE!”

“SPORTSBALL SCORE!” The entire team, Jason included, and more than half of the assembled crowd yells back. Dick’s going to be so proud when he finds out that the sportsball thing has really spread.

It takes Jason a while to get to Wayne Manor. Dick had texted him the co-ordinates, apparently unaware that Jason knows that Dick’s turned the old mansion into his storehouse for Gotham from the several months when he stalked them all to gather as much information as possible. He knocks on the door after parking his motorbike outside the front steps. Dick answers the door too quickly for him to have been doing anything but waiting for Jason. 

“Hi.” Dick says, blinking up at Jason through his lashes, small happy smile spread across his full biteable lips. Dick’s wearing an old thin t-shirt and loose yoga pants, which is unusually subdued for him.

“Hi.” Jason says amused at Dick acting like a girl from an eighties movie being picked up by her prom date. 

“So... do you want the tour now or after we celebrate?” Dick pulls Jason inside by the hand and twines their fingers together. The move feels as natural now as it did during the nearly 670 years of their first relationship.

“Hmm. After.” Jason says, taking in how Dick’s nearly vibrating with excitement. It’s obvious he wants to celebrate first. Jason’s feeling indulgent tonight; they did win after all, so he’ll give Dick what he wants.

“Well, in that case we need to head out to the gardens. Your surprise is out there.” Dick says with a million dollar smile on his face.

“Intriguing. Lay on, Macduff.” Jason quotes, and Dick pulls him by the hand, through the hall and out through the back door in the entirely unused kitchen.

Dick leads him out through the somewhat wild and over grown gardens. Dick obviously hasn’t been paying for a gardener to upkeep the place since he bought it. Eventually the bushes and trees open up to a gravelled area right up against the cliff edge. There’s a man in his late thirties, it looks like, tied up with heavy ropes to the balustrades of the safety rail. There’s a deep tray underneath him and it’s there to catch the blood.

“Surprise!” Dick trills out. “I brought you a picnic. I remember you liking a more... meaty wine that I do.”

“Dickie...” Jason looks at him, surprised. “You kidnapped a guy for me?”

“I got turned human, Jason. It didn’t make me _good_ too.” Dick nods. “He’s a serial rapist. I lured him here by pretending to be a misogynist who wanted to learn his ways.”

“And he believed you?” Jason scoffs. Anyone who meets Dick for more than a minute or two usually comes away with the impression that he’s into fashion, incredibly pretty, and gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.

“Rude!” Dick says, not the slightest bit offended. “I did it over the internet. I may have used a picture of the current president in my profile picture to help sell the lie, though. Do you like it?”

“I love it. Thank you.” Jason says, kissing him on the cheek in gratitude.

“I even wore old clothes I don’t like so you can tear them off me after you eat.” Dick says with a wink.

“I think this is turning into the best picnic ever.” Jason strips off his jacket and t-shirt and drops them on the nearby stone bench, before walking over to the rapist.

“You’d better let me go, or I’m gonna rape and kill your gypsy bitch there and then you too.” The tied up man slurs out and Jason can see that Dick was none to gentle when he knocked the man out. There’s blood dripping down the side of his face. Jason’s hungry. Chilled blood bags from willing donors just isn’t the same as fresh hot straight from the vein plasma.

“Scream all you like. No one’s going to save you.” Jason tells him, enjoying himself. “Or is that usually your line? How does it feel to be on the other side?”

The man scowls but doesn’t respond. Jason unties one wrist from the railings and then lifts, pulling and pulling until the man starts screaming and the arm rips free of his body. Jason lifts it up over his face and lets the blood gush down into his open waiting mouth. Under the screams of his meal, Jason can hear Dick moan and drop down to his knees. By the time he’s ripped off the other arm and done the same, he’s feeling full for the first time in months, and absolutely covered in blood. The man’s gasping for breath, bleeding out what blood is left inside him.

Jason stalks over to Dick, still on his knees. He stares up at Jason worshipfully, and obviously his time being human again has done nothing to change or lessen his strength and bloodplay kinks. Dick’s biting his lip hard, a trickle of blood sliding down his chin. He has the same look on his face he always used to have when he would beg Jason to get a firm grip on his hair, to wrap it around his wrist and use it to fuck Dick’s face and throat hard, until he couldn’t take it anymore. Enough time has passed that Jason’s not sure if that what Dick is asking for now too.

“Strip.” Jason says, voice low and full of demonic growl. Dick shudders and practically tries to rip the clothes from his body, standing up to take off his pants, leaving him entirely naked. Apparently today was a no underwear day. Jason trails a single bloody finger down Dick’s chest and stomach, and Dick moans quietly, shivering and trying to hold still for Jason even though it’s obvious that he wants to throw himself into Jason arms.

Jason swipes his hands over Dick’s face, sweeps them down over Dick’s arms, watching him shake with want, cock hard and wet and trembling just like the rest of him. Dick’s eyes have slipped shut and when Jason steps in closer they open and Jason nearly falls into the black holes of want his eyes have become. 

“Jason. _Husband_. Please...” Dick whispers, and Jason’s inclined to give Dick everything he wants. So he hoists Dick up, hands under his thighs and walks him back to the stone bench while Dick does his best to wrap around Jason and not let go. Jason lays them down on the bench, kissing Dick until Dick’s gasping for breath like he’s the one dying and has to pull away. His face is a mask of blood. Jason doesn’t resist the urge to lick it away.

Dick shoves a hand down between them, undoing Jason’s fly and shoving under his boxer briefs to pull his cock out and stroke him to full hardness. Jason’s fangs are still dropped and they ache to be buried in the soft skin of Dick’s neck, that one drop of his blood that Jason had licked from his chin was enough to make him crave more. 

Dick lines their cocks up and Jason rocks against him, shoving his hands under Dick’s shoulders to pull him down into his thrusts and cradle his neck. He drives Dick higher and higher until he’s crying out Jason’s name with each breath, and each name echoes through Jason’s mind, making him feel known and wanted and loved so much. Each ‘Torden’, ‘Jason’, ‘Todd’, and ‘Husband’ and even that damn ‘Sugar Bear’ means more than Jason had ever realised. Dick’s legs draw tighter around his, his hands scrabbling over Jason’s back, gouging deep scratches with his nails that make Jason grin ferally.

So Jason gives back what he can, and with each ‘Dick’, ‘Dickie’, ‘Wife’ ‘Cesario’, ‘Goldie’ and ‘Vasatichada’ he can feel Dick seize and jerk. It’s not until he says ‘Min Frue’ that Dick cries out loudly, tears streaming down his face as he comes wetly between them, pulling Jason down into a kiss that lasts until Dick’s whining underneath him.

Jason kisses down Dick’s neck. He so badly wants to bite deeply and drink. But he lets his teeth graze the skin of Dick’s shoulder, only biting enough to get a few drops. The taste of Dick’s love and ecstasy is enough to tip him over the edge, and it takes only a few more thrusts until Jason’s coming too with a deep grunt. Jason sags down onto Dick. Dick sighs happily and wraps his arms around him tighter. Dick’s breathing starts to struggle under Jason’s solid weight and Jason takes that as a sign to flip them over, holding Dick tight to him in place, leg slung across Jason’s hip and head cradled against his shoulder.

“I. You didn’t have to flip us over. I liked having you on top of me, pressing me down.” Dick says, still a little breathless and not quite with it.

“You couldn’t breathe properly.” Jason shrugs. “I mean, I like caging down and blocking out the world for you too, but I need you alive to do that, Goldie.”

“Ugh, being human sucks. The ability to eat pizza and walk in the sun is _not_ worth the downsides.” Dick grumbles, trying to press himself down onto Jason as much as he can.

“I’ll have to take your word for it. I can eat pizza if I try, but it doesn’t stay down.” Jason jokes.

“And you called me...” Dick swallows, strangely nervous. “You called me that name.”

“I used a lot of your names, Dickie, which one did you mean?” Jason asks, sweeping his hand down Dick’s spine comfortingly.

“Min Frue? Really? Still?” Dick whispers, staring up at him like Jason has given him the world and started Ragnarok just for him.

“Always.” Jason says, kissing him again. 

***

“OK, this is getting ridiculous. We’re going to sit down and talk about it.” Cass says, frowning at Steph and Tim, one day in the library after school, Alfred’s in a faculty meeting so they’re all taking the time to slack off instead of research. 

“We are? And what is?” Stephanie tilts her head at Cass cutely, her hair falling over her shoulder.

“This. Us. Tim, Steph, sit down.” Cass tells them and they blink at her, not moving. “Now.” Steph and Tim scurry to sit down in front of Cass after that commanding tone of voice.

“I have no patience for this. Steph, I like you. You like me. We have been dating a month and happy, yes?” Cass states, gesturing at Stephanie.

“Yes! Very.” Steph smiles and nods, her smile brightening the room considerably.

“Good.” Cass nods back, and she turns to Tim. “Tim, you like Steph and you like me, and want to date us both, yes?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t... I’d never do anything to mess with you guys or make you uncomfortable.” Tim flushes a dull red and looks down to the floor, mumbling his answer.

“Good. Steph, I like you. But I also like Tim. I want to date you both.” Cass announces and everyone in the room blinks. Well, that was very straightforward.

“Oh. I...” Steph flounders, clearly not expecting Cass to say anything like that.

“Steph, you like Tim and want to date him too, right?” Cass says, gesturing to Tim. 

“I... Yes. Yes, I do.” Steph says, blushing a light pink and looking at Tim, who’s staring at her in shock. “Even though his clothes are terrible.”

“OK. Can either of you give me a single reason why, if we all like each other, we can’t date?” Cass asks, and Tim opens his mouth only to close it, because he realises he doesn’t have a single reason. He looks over to Steph who looks at him doing the same. “OK. Good. We are now all dating. Yes?”

“Yes?” Tim agrees, looking unsure. Dick wonders if he thinks that this is either a dream or a cruel prank. The joke’s on him, it’s all real.

“Yes.” Steph agrees, looking excited but slightly nervous.

“OK, and now kiss.” Cass says pushing their heads together. Tim and Steph have the most awkward first kiss that Dick’s ever seen. They break apart with small smiles and look over to Cass. “My turn.” Cass kisses Tim, and he makes a mmphing noise until she pulls apart. “Yes. Good.” 

“I really wish I had popcorn right now.” Jason says staring at the three of them in pure glee. “I really do like Cass’ style, y’know.”

“You don’t even eat popcorn.” Dick says, shoving his elbow into Jason’s side. Jason doesn’t even pretend that it hurts him, which is just rude. “I’m proud of her, going after what she wants. Our daughter reminds me of me.”

“I’m so glad I’m in an online relationship so no one has to see me like that.” Barbara says, staring at the way Steph, Cass and Tim are making gooey eyes at each other. “Also? You’re both awful people.”

***

When Jason pushes up the window and climbs into Dick’s bedroom he starts grumbling immediately. “So why exactly can’t I come through the front door like anyone else, Dickie? This window climbing lark is a right fucking pain...” Jason trails off looking up and seeing Dick’s outfit.

“Because it’s fun and romantic, Sugar Bear!” Dick says, turning away from where he’s preening in the mirror. “Besides, you started it.”

“Why are you...” Jason sits down heavily in the window seat. “Why are you in a cheerleader’s uniform?” 

“I joined the squad! Do you like it on me?” Dick grins, giving Jason a twirl. Jason can’t tear his eyes away from him and nods dumbly. The school colours of black and gold have always looked good on Dick, but that tight uniform looks amazing.

“You joined the squad?” Jason says, staring at the way the seat of the probably supposed to be loose shorts is tight on Dick’s arse.

“Ugh, everyone was saying it would look good on my college applications, and I was saying I’m not even going to college, but no one was listening. So, it was easier to give in to shut Zatanna and Karen up.” Dick shrugs.

“They’re right, it will look good.” Jason stares as Dick comes closer, settling in Jason’s lap like he belongs there. “Wait, you’re not going to college?”

“Nope!” Dick grins, resting his arms on Jason’s shoulders and dropping a quick kiss on Jason’s cheek.

“Oh. I was hoping we could go together. I mean I don’t know what I’m going to study yet, but I’m going.” Jason admits, staring into Dick’s blue eyes, lined with gold again.

“You are?” Dick says, surprised.

“Yeah.” Jason strokes his hands down from Dick’s waist. “University is good time. I miss it, so I thought, why not go back again.”

“You’ve been?” Dick says, even more surprised.

“Three times so far. The first time was in the Fifties, I read English. Which is how I got published as an Austen Scholar.” Jason grins, feeling up the silky knee length shorts Dick’s got on. “The second time was in the early Eighties. I took History with a specialisation into Viking Studies. Wait, did you shave your legs?”

“Of course you did.” Dick snorts, shaking his head fondly. “And of course I did!”

“Nice.” Jason leers. “And the last time was the late Noughties. I have a PhD in engineering.” Jason shrugs. Engineering had been the hardest of the three for him to work through.

“So you think I should go?” Dick says, the look in his eyes a mix of hope and worry.

“Only if you want to.” Jason says, and Dick looks down and away, so Jason hooks his finger under his chin and forces him to look up. “Hey, I know the future’s something we’ve got to decide on, but it can wait a few years, OK? Whether you stay human or become a vampire or I become human, we’re going to stay together. You get that, right, Min Frue?

“I... Wayne’s wish. I can’t be a vampire again.” Dick says, guilt in his eyes.

“OK.” Jason says. “So whether I stay a vampire or become human, it doesn’t matter. We’re together until we die.”

“Jason...” Dick looks at him with wide eyes.

“No. I mean it. I’m not living without you again.” Jason says firmly. “I know you feel the same.”

“I do. I really do.” Dick nods, shifting closer in Jason’s lap. “You’d give up Valhalla for me?”

“I’d eat the sun for you, Dickie. I’d start Ragnarok if it made you happy. Valhalla would be torture without you, so... Yes. Exactly, I would. So... when you die, I die. 

That’s it.” Jason kisses Dick gently. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Dick bites his lip, and looks overwhelmed. Jason decides to give Dick a break and change the topic of conversation to something lighter. Lighter meaning sexy. 

“Say it.” Jason says, and Dick gives him a confused look, so he continues. “What you want to say about me having a PhD.”

“You’re a doctor. That’s... really hot, Jason.” Dick bites his lip, batting his lashes at him. “Like, really hot.” 

“Not as hot as you in that outfit.” Jason leers at him, squeezing his arse and making Dick’s eyes flutter shut with want.

“Oh you like it? I knew you would.” Dick gives him a burning look from under his eyelashes. “Which is why I’ve got the matching skirt too! Want me to put it on?”

“ _Fuck_ yes!” Jason says enthusiastically. With Dick, his coven, his everything, his wife, his queen, his _Min Frue_ in his arms, Jason is finally home. The future can wait.


End file.
